


Offerings to a Star

by fowl68



Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Backstory, Best Friends, Bullying, Canonical Character Death, Child Neglect, Child Soldiers, Children, Concentration Camps, Drowning, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship, Gen, Growing Up Together, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Pre-Game(s), Sibling Bonding, Slavery, Soldiers, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 77
Words: 210,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1299244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fowl68/pseuds/fowl68
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's about war and legends. Sometimes it's about races and hideouts, but mostly it's about brothers and growing up. An origin story in the form of collected one-shots and drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wish on a Star

**Author's Note:**

> This is finally being moved over here, mostly so I can get into this world again so I can finish this story properly. 
> 
> This is all before Tales of Symphonia and I began writing this a while before I ever saw the anime where they explained more on Yuan and Kratos' past, so this is basically tossing that out the window.
> 
> This chapter has very much inspiration from The Kite Runner.

* * *

 

_A child seldom needs a good talking to as a good listening to.  
~Robert Brault_

* * *

 

The walls of the kitchen are plastered with photos and yellowed newspaper articles that traders bring in from the capital. Not that anyone in the family actually knows what the articles say, but they know the faces of the people there. The ones in the articles are important people; generals and war heroes. The people in the photographs, however, aren't famous anywhere but here. In Asgard, everyone knows their names, faces. Has watched them grow up.

Yuan can't remember the people in the photos, despite the fact that they're his brothers. Yuan has been told much about Dehua and Kail, though whenever he looks around, all he sees are strangers. Here is Dehua balancing on the lip of the fountain. Here is Kail grinning with his foot propped on top of a ball. And there they both are, sitting up in the branches of a pomegranate tree.

There are many photos with them and their mother. Helping her put up the laundry, helping her cook and sitting beside her on her birthday. Their mother had been lovely once. Her hair had been like midnight silk, or so Yuan remembers Poppi saying once. Poppi said that Yuan had inherited her eyes, aquamarine like the ocean. Yuan has never seen the ocean.

But these days, Mama doesn't leave her room and Poppi's gone with Dehua and Kail in the war. Zaren, Yuan's third oldest brother, is the only one left. They are four years apart, not that it matters overmuch, and look very little alike. Zaren is stocky and looks more human with rounder ears and sharper features.

Zaren spends much of his time with the sheep. Days sometimes, if there's been a drought recently and he has to take the herd out towards the greener pastures and sometimes even the forest. This leaves Yuan home with Mama.

Mama has her good days sometimes. Days when she'll get out of bed and smile at him and that's when she'll look like the woman Poppi talked about. She'll bathe and put on fresh clothes. She'll let Yuan brush her hair and, though he's never actually felt silk, he can see what Poppi was talking about. They'll walk through the town square and the market. They'll eat lamb kabobs, something that they both share a love for.

Sometimes, Mama will bake on her good days and invite the others in their building. Yuan is allowed to lick the bowl and he'll sit back and listen to the people he's called family all his life, even if he knows that most of the people in the room aren't actually related to him. They drink tea and compliment Mama on her baking.

He gets to hear stories of when she and Poppi were younger and he loves those stories.

"I was on a pilgrimage with a few friends when I saw him," she'd say. "When we stopped here for Syplh, I used to climb over the village gate at night to meet with him in the field. He was always so afraid that we'd get caught. My friends left and I always seemed to forget to follow them. We met secretly for years before, finally, he proposed. Right there in the middle of the field, with sheep all around us. He told me later that the look on my face was priceless."

The talk will inevitably turn to the end of the war and that, when the boys returned home, that they would need brides. Especially Dehua and Kail. Such handsome boys, they'd say.

Yuan never speaks during those talks. He can't remember his brothers, hard as he tries. He'd been little more than three years old when they'd enlisted. Sometimes, he thinks he can remember a laugh or the flash of a mischievous grin, but that's the extent of it.

But her good days aren't often and Yuan will end up wandering the village to be anywhere but home. He likes to sit by the street performers and learn all sorts of things like card tricks and how to flip a coin on his knuckles. They tried to teach him juggling, but he's clumsy with it. They dance to the floaty melodies of wooden flutes and Yuan grins and dances with them sometimes. They laugh and clap and cheer, even though he knows he's not very good.

Zaren is home today after a week of being gone. "How was Mama?" he asks Yuan. They're sitting on the very top of their building where the laundry was hung, their heels bouncing on the sides.

Yuan shrugs and tucks a lock of blue hair behind his ear. There aren't any other kids in the village with that color and Poppi said it was because his mother's father had come from a land far from here. The elven lands, where the trees spoke and where unicorns walked on top of the water on foggy days, or so the stories said. "Good days. Bad days."

"The usual then." Zaren pulls up a leg and rests an elbow on it. "I'm sorry for staying away for so long."

"You could take me with you."'

Zaren smiles, but shakes his head. "You're not old enough yet."

"Am too!" Yuan says indignantly. "This year is my ninth winter!"

"Yeah, and you still look like six," Zaren teases, ruffling his younger brother's hair. Yuan ducks away, sticking his tongue out at him.

It's winter and Zaren is home for a month. They make playing card towers and climb pomegranate trees. They eat sour oranges and tell each other stories that only grow in ridiculousness, but it makes them laugh. They race down cliffsides, dirt clouds puffing up behind their bare feet.

It is during that winter that a knock comes at the door.

"I must speak with your mother, child," the man says when Yuan opens the door, whose wood is cracked and splintering.

Zaren gently pulls Yuan aside. "I'll take care of this. Go on upstairs and get the laundry, won't you?"

Yuan begins to climb the stairs, but crouches and watches as Zaren leads the stranger inside. Mama os in the kitchen today. It wasn't a good or a bad day. An in between day, where she does things, but her mind isn't all there. He watches as the stranger bows a bit from the waist and spoke to them in a quiet voice. Then Zaren's face goes white and Mama is screaming and sobbing.

Zaren tells Yuan later what happens and Yuan can see the grief on his face. Dehua and Kail were gone, he'd said. Had been killed by a mine.

"And Poppi?" Yuan had asked.

Zaren simply shakes his head and doesn't say anymore.

It's difficult for Yuan to really feel Mama and Zaren's loss. Hard to grieve the deaths of people Yuan can't remember and doesn't really think of as alive. They were like characters in the stories Poppi used to tell. Warriors in a fairy tale.

It is Zaren who was flesh and blood, Zaren who teaches him cusswords and who likes salted green beans, who has a scar along his right forearm where he'd fought wolves away from the sheep.

Yuan goes through the grieving motions with Mama and Zaren, but to his mind, his only brother is alive and well.

* * *

 

"You should just be grateful that he's alive and well."

"I know. But he's always got his nose stuck in those books of his. I wasn't like that. Not at all nor were the other children I grew up with."

"So? He's a quiet kid."

The chair creaked as his father shifted. "I've seen him sometimes when I walk through the town. He'll be playing on the street and the other boys will push him around, take his books. And he's never once fought back. He just drops his head and…lets it happen."

"He's not violent either. Not all children are."

His father's voice hardened a little. "That isn't what I mean. He's missing something."

"What? A cruel streak? He has the best grades in his class. For most parents, that would be enough." But that would never be enough for his father, Kratos knows.

"Self-defense has nothing to do with being cruel. He lets them beat on him. And when I see him next and I ask him how he got that black eye or that cut, he'll say, 'I fell down.'"

"He's just a late bloomer. He'll find his place."

"His place will be under other people's boots if this keeps up." Kratos flinches at the sharpness in his father's voice. "He'll never be able to stand up for anything."

"You're only angry because you're afraid he won't follow in your footsteps and join the military." Kratos frowns. His father? Afraid? That wasn't possible. His father was the bravest person he knew.The sound of a match striking and the smell of cigar smoke. "Besides, the world has many soldiers. But Kratos can become an engineer or something. We need those too."

"That's oversimplifying. I'm glad you can understand him because I can't. Not at all. It's like…I can't believe he's my son."

Kratos stands from where he's been crouching by his father's study door. He should've known better than to eavesdrop, but something in him had been hoping that perhaps his father spoke differently about him to his best friend. Apparently not.

He retreats back into his room and, more importantly, into his books. They are a world well away from this place. He read everything. Biographies, fact books, guide books, fantasy stories. He's even stolen into his father's study once and gotten his mother's old books. They are dusty and their pages are yellowing, but sometimes he imagines he can smell perfume.

His mother had been a teacher of literature at the university. Or so he's been told. He'd only ever seen the one photograph of her, the one of his parents' wedding day. She was pretty, Kratos has always thought thought. She had his same color hair, a strange mix of red and brown, but hers fell in curls down her shoulders. Her eyes were light brown and sparkled with laughter in the photo. The white dress had semi-transparent long sleeves and the skirts flowed to the ground.

She hadn't died. Agenor had told him so. She'd left a week after he took his first steps.

Marrying a well-read woman is one thing. Fathering a son who prefers reading to learning how to fight…well...that was a different matter altogether. And heaven forbid Kratos' father should ever find the sheets of paper where he'd scribbled out short imaginings and stories.

Kratos sighs and takes a pinch of food and has to stand on his toes to feed it to the long, silver and green fish. "Business as usual, then, huh?"

The fish's milky brown eyes almost look intelligent enough to answer him.

"Y'know, someday I'll make him proud. Dunno what I'll do to do that though. I can't even pick up one of those monster swords of his. Or maybe, next time they bully me again and he asks me what happened, I could make something up. Something better than 'I fell.' I'll say that there were twenty of them! Huge guys the size of _mountains_. I held off for as long as I could, but I couldn't beat them all."

Kratos wonders if he imagines the amusement in the fish's eyes.

"It's a work in progress, alright?"

The fish splashes a little. Kratos thinks that it's his version of a snort.

"It appears you're in need of a new bookshelf. Again."

Kratos turns to the man in the doorway. Agenor is his father's best friend and fellow general. Kratos has known the man all his life. Kratos smiles. "I think I can still squeeze a few more in."

Agenor studies the bookshelves in question. Kratos devours books. Sometimes Agenor thinks that, one day, Kratos will go to the bookstore and find that there are no titles left that he hasn't read. "Without making it burst?"

"It's tricky, but I've gotten the hang of it."

"I can see that." This is his third bookshelf and there is precious little room there in between the leather bound biographies and the paperback fantasies. "How many books are there, do you know?"

"I stopped counting a while ago."

Agenor hums in interest. "Have you ever thought of writing books yourself?" Kratos' heart thuds loudly in his chest. That is a little too close to the mark. "You must have some ideas of your own."

"I don't think I'd be very good."

"Even so, I'd like to read them."

Kratos doesn't think he's quite ready to share those scattered pages. Not yet. Not with an adult. It's at times like these that he wishes he had a brother. He's heard some of the other kids in his class say that brothers and sisters are annoying and they usually wished them away.

Kratos thinks that those kids are dumb.

Maybe brothers and sisters _did_ get annoying, but anything had to be better than the perpetual silence that filled his house. They, at least, have someone to play and laugh with. Other kids to share things with. Agenor is Kratos' friend, but there is a big difference between an adult friend and a kid friend.

Kratos is still thinking on brothers and sisters that night after dinner. He'd already put on his pajamas and, technically, it's bedtime, but he is very much awake and he doesn't think he could go to sleep if he tried. So he sits by the window and stares up at the stars.

What was that old saying? A wish, when offered to a star, would come true?

Kratos searches for the perfect star. There are hundreds of them in the sky—he knows, he's tried counting—but there had to be a perfect one for this wish. He finds his perfect star. It's brilliantly white and has an almost bluish tinge to it.

And he wishes for a best friend. A brother. He wishes hard too, saying it over and over again like a mantra. Please give me a friend. Please, please.


	2. Meeting

* * *

 

_Fear makes strangers of people who would be friends.  
~Shirley Maclaine_

* * *

Kratos peered around the corner into his father's study. It always smelled of cigar smoke. "…You wanted to talk to me, sir?"

General Sandor Aurion looked at his son. "Yes, I did. I noticed you came home looking a little beat up yesterday."

Kratos ducked his head, hiding behind his bangs. His father had _noticed_ him! "Yes, sir."

"Want to tell me why that is?"

It was phrased as a question, but there was no mistaking that it was an order. Kratos tried to remember the dramatic excuse he'd come up with. Something about mountain men? He couldn't remember and even if he could, his tongue felt heavy in his mouth and he wasn't sure he could even deliver the lie. "…I fell, sir."

"Again?"

Kratos repressed a flinch. "I-I'm a little clumsy."

"More than a little. You fall at least three times a week." Sandor studied his son. "Come with me. I think I have a solution."

Puzzled, Kratos follows his father out of the house and out towards the fields. It would be harvest-time in a few weeks and the stalks of corn and wheat grew tall, well over Kratos' head. In between the long rows, Kratos sometimes glimpsed a face or a hand, but nothing specific.

He had to jog a little to keep up with his father's long strides on their way to the ramshackle building that housed the field slaves. The walls were only wood, the door little more than a curtain. Inside, the building reeked of sweat and mold and it was cramped and dirty.

There was a table that leaned heavily on one of its legs that looked like it'd been put together out of spare wagon pieces. Several slaves were gathered around it, their hands on cups that clattered with dice. Some of the other slaves were in their cots, either sleeping or simply sitting and watching the game.

"Pick one." Sandor told his son.

"Sir?"

"Pick a slave that'll help you with these…falls…that you're having. They'll carry your schoolbooks and help you get ready in the morning."

Kratos glanced between his father and the slaves. They were all looking back at him, but there was nothing friendly in their faces. Most of them were large and rather scary-looking. His eyes landed on a slave closer to his own age, sitting on the floor beside one of the cots.

The slave stared back and there was wary curiosity on his dusty face. His hair was tangled and matted and he looked half-ready to bolt.

* * *

 

"It's not so bad here," one of the other half-elves says. "We're fed, at least."

"It ain't much," another adds. "But it's food."

Yuan doesn't know these half-elves. He'd never ventured outside of Asgard, had never seen beyond the fields and forest treetops that he spied from the high cliffs and pomegranate branches.

He isn't sure exactly where he is, but there aren't mountains here and it makes Yuan feel very small. The flat lands seem to stretch on forever with big fields that Yuan was told that he was going to be working in pretty soon.

This place smells different. It smells of soil and sweat and freshly turned leaves. Not like Asgard with its lamb and pomegranate smell that Yuan would know anywhere. But that smell is gone now. Now, Asgard is full of ashes and ruins and bodies strewn in the streets.

It's been three months since Zaren was drafted. He was too young, only thirteen winters, but the general that came to the village for all able-bodied young men and Zaren qualified.

_"Why don't you just say no?" Yuan asks as he watches Zaren pack his meager belongings._

_"I can't, Yuan. The general himself asked me to join. I can't refuse that."_

_"You'll end up like Dehua and Kail," Yuan tells him quietly. "You won't come back and you'll make Mama sad."_

_"Don't do that, Yuan."_

_"What?"_

_"Guilt me into staying. I'm going. End of story."_

_"You shouldn't have to. There are_ tons _of people to fight for Tethe'alla. Our family's already given them enough. You shouldn't have to give more."_

_Zaren chuckles—a bitter sound, one that Yuan had never heard before—and crouches to look him in the eye. "…You're a smart kid, Yuan. You'll go places that I can't even imagine. Promise me something."_

_"Anything." Yuan says without hesitation._

_"…Promise me you won't give up. Not for anyone or anything. Promise me you'll keep fighting, even if it seems like there's no point. Promise me that you'll try hard to_ go somewhere _in life."_

_"I promise, Zaren, but why would I want to go anywhere else when I have everything I've ever wanted right here?"_

_Because he didn't know the other options, Zaren thinks. Because he'd never seen the way that the pastures stretched out to the horizon and he'd never wondered what was beyond that horizon._

The curtain that serves as their door is pushed aside and two people enter. The man is tall and imposing, black hair slicked back from a sharp-featured face. Yuan recognizes the man from the articles that Mama had hung in the kitchen, though he doesn't know who he is.

The boy next to him is tiny in comparison. Not much older than Yuan, he has a bird's nest of reddish-brown hair and looks entirely too pale.

The man says something and while Yuan sees the boy's mouth move, he can't hear him at all, even though the building isn't all that big and they aren't far from each other. The boy scans the room, hands wringing the hem of his shirt. Finally, his eyes land on Yuan.

They stare at each other for a few long moments before the boy points. Yuan tenses instinctively at the motion. He hadn't heard what the boy had said to the man—the kid's voice is way too quiet—but he knows that it can't be good news to have been singled out like this.

The man gestures for Yuan to come closer and Yuan knows he can't do more than obey, though he does so warily. The man turns and strides out of the building and the boy glances nervously between the man and Yuan—now that they are closer, Yuan can see that the boy's eyes are a curious shade of brown that look a little reddish—before following the man out and Yuan has no choice but to follow.


	3. The Weird Kids

* * *

 

" _Friendship is born at that one moment when one person says to another: "What! You too? I thought I was the only one!"  
–C.S. Lewis_

* * *

Kratos has learned precious little about the new slave. Those things include his name and a rough estimate of his age. Other than that, most of their time has been spent in an awkward, elephant in the room kind of silence.

In the few weeks since Kratos and his father—a general of the human army, Yuan soon learns—Yuan has been able to find out, more or less, Kratos' life story thanks to the other house slaves. He'd hidden a smile at their collective dinner in the kitchen, which is much later after the Aurions'. It seems that, no matter where they might be from or the situation, half-elves can be trusted to look after their own.

Zaren would have laughed, Yuan thinks. "Put two half-elves who have never met in a room together for twenty minutes and they'll be able to tell you how they're related," he'd said once after a traveling caravan of half-elves had come through the village.

His duties are straightforward. Make sure Kratos is up on time—not that Yuan has any idea how to read a clock, but he's been told that it's when the cook begins getting breakfast ready—run his bath and gather up the papers and materials from the homework that Kratos had the night before. Sometimes, Yuan will stare at the papers with their diagrams and strange scribblings and thinks that they look similar to the scribblings on the articles back home.

When Yuan had seen the building that he walked with Kratos to most days, he'd stared uncomprehendingly the first time. "What is this?" he asks.

Kratos stares at him as if he doesn't know why he was asking. "It's a school."

Yuan blinks at him. "What's that?"

Kratos feels something in him go a little cold at that moment. "You honestly don't know?"

"Would I be asking if I did?"

"School is a place where you go to learn things like math and history and how to read."

There's a strange light in Yuan's eyes. "They teach to read?"

"Yeah, of course they do." Kratos hesitates a little. "Don't you know how? To read I mean."

Yuan shakes his head, making his bangs fall into his face. His hair is an unusual color, Kratos thinks. It's blue like the water in the lake. Kratos doesn't quite know what to say to that. He hasn't ever met anyone who couldn't read. Maybe it was a half-elf thing.

Yuan stays outside while Kratos is in…school. Despite Kratos trying to explain, Yuan still doesn't quite understand what it is, but he does know one thing about it. There are no half-elves allowed. Yuan climbs up one of the trees _(These trees didn't smell like pomegranates or sour oranges. They smelled like pine and sap and bark and it's unusual)_ and watches the other slaves.

Most of them are a lot like him; kids and small and their eyes never dart across the yard to look at the school. Yuan isn't sure why they wouldn't want to look at it. His entire house could have fit inside just a piece of it! And so could the market stalls and the blacksmith's forge. The walls are stark white, which Yuan doesn't quite know why. Back home, the walls are red clay and rough cliff walls and the kids would sometimes be allowed to mush berries up to make paint and to paint all along the walls. Their designs would be washed away with the next rain, but it was fun.

Once, he and Zaren had painted a picture of themselves onto their wall, with crowns on their head. "We'll be kings of the world one day," Zaren had said.

"Yeah, and we'll stop the war," Yuan continued.

"And everyone will have food."

"And toys!"

Zaren had laughed and smiled fondly at his little brother. "Yeah. And toys."

When a loud bell rings, the human kids are let outside. Where the other kids go and play, kicking a ball between them and wrestling playfully, Kratos has a book clutched protectively in front of his chest and he'll curl up behind a tree, where it's harder to see him from the field, and read.

After a week of seeing Kratos do this and not understanding why he wouldn't want to go out and play with the others—there weren't many kids in his village and Yuan was the odd one out with his strange hair color and crazy dreams—Yuan climbs up Kratos' usual tree and waits for the bell to ring.

"Why are you here?"

Kratos jumps, and stares up at where Yuan is perched with wide eyes. "W-what?"

"Why're you here?" Yuan repeats.

"I told you. To learn."

Yuan shakes his head and pushes his bangs out of his face. "No, not here. _Here._ Like right here. Why are you sitting here instead of playing with the others?"

Kratos shifts uncomfortably, eyes dropping to the ground. "…They don't like me very much."

"How come?" Yuan thinks Kratos is weird and too jumpy, but he's an okay person. For a human, at least.

Kratos shrugs. "They think I'm weird 'cause I read so much."

"Huh."

Kratos glances up at him. "What?"

Yuan's blue eyes look down at him. "The kids in my village used to think I was weird too."


	4. Swinging on a Star

 

* * *

 

_Or would you rather be a fish?..._

_A fish won't do anything but swim in a brook_  
He cant write his name or read a book,  
And to fool the people is his only thought  
Though he slippery - he still gets caught

_But then if that sort of life is what you wish  
You may grow up to be a fish..._

_And all the monkeys aren't in a zoo,_  
Every day you meet quite a few,  
So you see it's all up to you...  
You can be better than you are...  
You could be swinging on a star!

_-Swinging on a Star_ _**(Bing Crosby)** _

* * *

In the morning, Kratos sometimes catches Yuan running a hand along the spines of his books. Sometimes, Yuan will even be flipping through the pages, stopping at the pictures, tracing the images with his fingers.

Once, Yuan waves him closer. "What's that?" Yuan asks, pointing to the page.

"That's the ocean."

"Oh. Is that what it really looks like?" Kratos nods and Yuan studies the picture. The ocean really is the color of Mama's eyes. "Have you ever been there?"

Kratos shakes his head. "Agenor says that it's too dangerous, that the closest oceans are in elven territory."

Yuan had met Agenor once or twice. He is a kind enough man, if a little bland in personality to the humans. He is colder to the half-elves, not cruel like the overseers, but sometimes, ignorance is worse than that.

After another one of these mornings—sometimes, it seems like Yuan never runs out of questions about the pictures in the books—they're walking to school when Kratos stops to look at him.

"...D'ya wanna learn how to read?"

Yuan stares at him. And doesn't stop staring. Finally, he finds words. " _What?_ Are you insane?"

Kratos shakes his head and shifts his weight. "I've seen you look at my books. Don't you wanna know what's in 'em?"

"I've been fine so far," Yuan says. "Readin' can't be all _that_ important or Zaren would've taught me."

"Yuan, have you ever known a half-elf who knows how to read?"

Yuan thinks about it for a minute before shaking his head. "No. Mama never knew how either. She just had pieces from the newspaper all over her walls, ones that had pictures of important people in the war." Yuan doesn't tell him about Dehua and Kail, doesn't tell him about the brothers he's never known, the warriors in the fairy tales.

"I think it's 'cause all the schools are either in human or elven lands."

"The elves don't want nothing ta do with us," Yuan tells him. "Poppi told me so."

"And humans…" Kratos doesn't want to finish the sentence.

But he didn't have to. "They think we're scum on their boots."

Kratos flinches at the blunt wording. "More or less." 

Yuan likes how Kratos doesn't deny it or try to make excuses. He tilts his head and considers Kratos. "You don't think like that, do ya?"

"Huh?"

"That we're scum?"

"No, of course not."

"Why not?"

Kratos shrugs. "I dunno. I think it's 'cause you don't look any different than me. My teachers always used to tells us that half-elves were monsters and stuff like that. But you don't look anything like a monster. You just look like a kid."

"But…it's against the law for a half-elf ta be able ta read, ain't it?" Kratos nods. "You could get yourself into so much trouble! Or your dad into trouble! Why would you do something like that? Why would-"

"Because you should get that same chance!" Yuan doesn't know this Kratos. It's the same person, but the voice and face don't look like him. There's a stubborn set to his mouth and he doesn't sound nervous at all. "If you want to learn, why shouldn't you?"

"Against. The. Law," Yuan repeats slowly.

"But why'd they make that law anyways? It's stupid! Reading…it's so incredible. And…maybe I won't be the best teacher, but I'll help you. Any way I can, I'll help."

Yuan stares at him. "But…then I'll owe you."

"No you won't. I haven't lent you anything."

"Not that kind of owing. _Owing."_ Kratos looks at him, uncomprehending. The same way Yuan had looked at the school the first time. "It's like…the way it works is…It's a little like…" Yuan can't find the words to explain it, isn't sure that there _are_ words for that sort of thing.

Kratos bites his lip a little before saying, "How about this? You…be my friend and I'll teach you to read."

"Sorry, what?"

Kratos shifts uncomfortably. "…You heard me…Be my friend and I'll teach you to read. I don't think I can be that great a friend and you'll probably get made fun of a lot, but we can laugh about it later and make fun of them back and-"

"Kratos," Yuan says firmly. "I'm saying this as your friend," A teasing smile lifts the corners of his mouth. Kratos is willing to get into _huge_ trouble for him. To teach him to read. Yuan's never known anyone who would do something like that. "Shut up or you'll be late."

Kratos breaks out into a delighted smile. "…Race you there?"

Yuan grins at him. "You're on."

Kratos loses, as he'd known he would, and he's breathing all too hard, but they're both smiling and laughing in between pants for breath and when Kratos goes into the classroom, the other kids are all staring at him and some of them whisper and point to him, snickering behind their hands. Kratos knows it's because he probably looks disheveled and his face is probably all red from running, but he finds that he doesn't mind them looking at him like that for the first time.

He's got a friend. His first friend. Maybe there was something to this wishing on stars after all.


	5. Possible

* * *

 

 _It's possible! For a plain yellow pumpkin  
_ _To become a golden carriage  
_ _It's possible! For a plain country bumpkin  
_ _And a prince to join in marriage  
_ _And four white mice are easily turned to horses_

 _Such folderol and fiddle-dee-dee of course is  
_ _Quite possible! It's possible!_

 _For the world is full of zanies and fools  
_ _Who don't believe in sensible rules  
_ _And won't believe what sensible people say  
_ _And because these daft and dewy-eyed dopes  
_ _Keep building up impossible hopes  
_ _Impossible things are happening every day_

-Impossible  **(Rodger and Hammerstein's Cinderella)**

* * *

"Can you teach me to write my name?"

Kratos looks over at Yuan. They'd taken to spending their afternoons outside. Sometimes, they wandered through the nearby town or they simply hung around in the forest that bordered the plantation. Right now, they were both on their backs, watching clouds as they passed by.

"Yeah, of course." Kratos thinks that it's a little strange that Yuan has never so much as seen his name on a piece of paper. Kratos sometimes got a little tired of his name and writing it on the right corner at the top of his schoolwork. "Grab a stick."

Yuan is on his feet before Kratos is completely aware of what's happening. Sometimes Yuan does that, moves too fast for Kratos to really see. Yuan hands the long stick that he found nearby to Kratos. "Teach me."

"Okay, so you know your alphabet, right?" Yuan nods fervently. It had taken a few weeks, but he'd managed to memorize all twenty-six letters. "Okay, so your name has four letters. The Y, the U, the A and the N."

Kratos sketches the letters into the dirt nice and big for Yuan to see before giving him the stick. "You try."

Yuan's hand is shaky as he writes, and the letters are written with a childlike, blockish kind of care, but right underneath Kratos' letters is a passable imitation of them. Yuan looks over at him. "Did I get it right?" he asks anxiously.

Kratos grins at him. "Yup. You can write your name."

Yuan whoops and is suddenly hugging Kratos tightly before releasing him. "Thank you." From the way Yuan is smiling at him, Kratos might have given him the world. "Thank you so much!" He can write his name. He, Yuan, a slave from Asgard, can write his name. Yuan has never felt pride like this before, not even when he'd beaten Zaren for the first time in cards.

"I just showed you how. You did it all on your own."

"How do you spell your name?" Yuan asks, head tilted. Kratos blinks at him before demonstrating. "Can you do it a little more slowly?"

Kratos obliges before Yuan tries. The S is backwards, but otherwise, he'd gotten it right. Kratos guides him in writing the S and it takes Yuan a few more times to get it right. Yuan asks him after several more words, ones that Kratos can't figure out how they're linked together. After Yuan asks him several times if he's  _absolutely sure_  that that was how they were spelled, Yuan grabs a small knife from his pocket.

Kratos gapes at him. "You have a knife?"

"Yeah. Just in case."

"Just in case of what? I try to kill you?"

"Not like  _that_. My brother told me to always carry the knife in case…something happened."

"Something like…what happened to your village?" Kratos isn't an idiot. He might not know the details of what had happened, but he knows that Yuan didn't volunteer for this.

Yuan's eyes are unreadable. "Yeah, like that kind of something."

"So what's the knife for now?"

Yuan grins impishly, suddenly himself again. "You'll see." He dashes for the tree line and scans the trees carefully before choosing a fairly young one with a sturdy trunk and long branches. He carefully begins etching words into the trunk.

When he finally takes a step back and hums appreciatively at his work, Kratos sidles closer to take a look. When he does, his chest feels a little tight. There, written in Yuan's shaky carve-work, are the words _YUAN AND KRATOS_ and right beneath it is  _KINGS OF THE WORLD_.

Kratos looks over at him. "Kings of the world?"

"Oh yeah."

"What makes you think we'll ever be kings of anything?"

Yuan folds his knife and slips it back in his pocket. "Well, you taught me to read and write didn't you? If you can do that, anything's possible."

Kratos looked back at the carving. "Yeah. You're right. Anything."

Yuan stuffs his hands in his pockets as they begin walking back to Kratos' house. "…And that includes flying."

Kratos laughs, not unkindly. "That's the crazy part."

"What, you seriously think we can't? Watch, one day we'll be tasting clouds and I'll tell you 'I told you so'." Yuan still remembers sitting in the trees of his village, watching stormclouds roll in and wishing he could climb even higher. "I wonder what clouds taste like? Sugar?"

"Cotton candy more like it."

Yuan blinks at him. "Why would you want candy made out of cotton? That doesn't sound very sweet at all."

Kratos burst out laughing and slings his arm around Yuan's shoulder, still grinning. "You still have so much to learn."


	6. Free Cakes

* * *

 

" _Before I met you, I thought brave was not being afraid. You've taught me that bravery is being terrified and doing it anyways."_

_—Jason_ _**(Blood Noir by Laurell K. Hamilton)** _

* * *

 

Yuan awoke to a violent shaking of his shoulder and a familiar voice hissing his name in his ear. Yuan half-heartedly pushed away the hands and rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. Kratos was standing there, cheeks pink—most likely from the recent frost that had come over the world—and a wide smile on his face.

"Wuzz goin' on?" Yuan yawned, sitting up. Then the strangeness of the situation registered. Why was Kratos waking him up? Shouldn't it be the other way around? "What're you doing here?"

Kratos brushed his bangs out of his eyes, still excited. It had been a little frightening, coming to the slave quarters on his own, but the slaves hadn't proved to be scary after all. "It's Celsius Day tomorrow!"

Yuan blinks at him, still trying to wake up. "Celsius Day?"

"Yeah." A momentary puzzlement. "Don't half-elves celebrate it?"

"Of course we do, but…is it really Celsius Day already? In another week, it'll be the new year." It's hard to believe that Yuan had spent so long here.

"Yeah, already. Get out of bed, c'mon."

Yuan did, but with reluctance. He wasn't exactly warm underneath the thin blankets, but it was warmer in his cot than it was out there, where the dirt floor was frozen and the cold travelled through his bare feet up through the rest of his body.

"What're you so excited for? Where're we going?"

"To town. Come  _on!_ "

Yuan tried to finger-comb his hair back into some semblance of order, but Kratos tugged on one of his arms and he went stumbling after him. "Why're we going to town?"

"Y'know, sometimes I think you never run out of questions."

"You ain't much better," Yuan retorted.

"Aren't," Kratos corrects. "'Ain't' isn't a word."

" _Aren't_  much better," Yuan repeated dutifully. "You never answered my question. Why're we goin' to town so early? I still had a good bit of sleep left."

"A half an hour, actually."

Yuan had yet to learn how to read a clock, though Kratos had started teaching him his numbers—"Because if you know how to read, you might as well know how to do math," he'd said. To be honest, Yuan found the numbers easier to work with than the words.

"And we're going so we can get the Celsius Day presents. And sometimes, the stores'll give out free treats."

" _Really_?" The stalls back home never gave away anything. Things that weren't sold during the day were taken home to families or to sell tomorrow. Nothing ever went to waste.

"Only sometimes though. But if we get there early, we might get lucky."

They spend the whole day in town, pointing out interesting-looking items in shop windows and watching the adults put up the lights on their rooftops and windowsills. It didn't snow here, not enough to cover the ground like it did back in Asgard. The ground was frosty and slippery and more than once, Yuan had to catch Kratos' arm before his feet went flying out from under him.

When they entered shops, the shopkeepers would give Yuan a dirty look, if they saw him at all, and the half-elf was careful to keep quieter. He and Kratos could get in trouble just for being friends.

The old lady who ran the bakery smiled at Kratos when he came in. "How old are you now, Kratos?"

Kratos avoided her eyes, like he did with most adults. "…Almost eleven, ma'am."

"I think you're getting too old for free cakes, boy."

"A boy is never too old for free cakes," Kratos said, smiling a little uncertainly. Some of Yuan's smart tongue had clearly rubbed off on him.

But the old woman only laughed. "You sound like my son. Which one would you like today?"

Kratos had to stand on his toes to properly see inside the glass case. There were trays upon trays of sugary confections. Strawberry topped cheesecakes, chocolate covered pretzels, small cakes stuffed with cream; it was every child's dream. But there was one thing Kratos had been wanting to try for a little while now and he pointed to the frosting-coated pastry.

Kratos accepted the pastry wrapped in thin paper and napkins and smiled gratefully at her. "Thank you. Have a good Celsius Day!"

"You too, boy."

Yuan eyed the napkins in Kratos' hand warily as they left the store. "What's that?"

"A cinnamon bun."

"Come again?"

Kratos glanced around the street—if anyone saw him sharing fresh food with a half-elven slave, heaven only knew what would happen—before gesturing Yuan to follow him behind one of the buildings. He unwrapped the pastry. "This is a cinnamon bun. I've been meaning to try it, but…I just never got around to it."

The truth was that every time Kratos had tried, the older kids from his school would appear and beat him up. They told him it was too big for a kid his size. They told him that they deserved it more. They said a lot of things. 

Kratos saw the question on Yuan's face, but knew he wouldn't ask. Yuan didn't like to ask for things. _(It's a matter of pride and the way he was raised. They didn't need others' charity. They could take care of themselves)_  "Do you want to try some?"

Yuan smiled and broke off a small piece, popping it into his mouth and chewing carefully. The smile widened into a grin almost immediately as the sweetness burst on his tongue. "That's incredible!"

Kratos had to agree and they ate the shared bun in comfortable silence for a few minutes more _(When had their silences become comfortable rather than elephant-in-the room?)_  Kratos stiffened when he saw the bullies from his school striding down the street. Yuan noticed the way Kratos seemed to suddenly shrink away. He did that a lot, like he was trying to make himself invisible. Yuan was a little afraid that, one day, he would succeed.

"What's wrong?" Yuan followed his friend's gaze to the older boys. "Are they the ones that bullied you?"

"…Yeah. That's them."

Yuan popped the last piece in his mouth and brushed his hands against each other, ridding them of crumbs. He licked away any remnants of frosting from his fingers "Stay here for a minute."'

Kratos stared after him, words not wanting to work again as Yuan strode towards them. Yuan stopped a good ten or fifteen feet away from them and bent to pick up something from the dirt. The next thing Kratos knew, Yuan was chucking them with surprising accuracy at the bullies, catching one in the arm and two others in their backs.

They whipped around to look at Yuan. If Kratos had had the guts to do what the half-elf just did, he would have been shaking right now. But Yuan didn't back up even a step, standing with his chin high and his fists clenched. Standing like that, Kratos thought, Yuan looked ready to take on the world.

The bullies shouted something at him, but Yuan didn't even flinch. That seemed to make them angry and there was a flurry of movement as they went for him. It's difficult for Kratos to make out anything in the tangle of arms and legs, but there's a flash of blue and suddenly, his legs were moving without conscious thought.

A fist snapped across his face and he punched weakly towards them. There's someone above him—he couldn't recognize the person—but they're kicking at him, laughing a smile with blood running from a split lip. The next instant, the laughing person wasn't there because a blur of blue shoved them harshly away.

There's shouting, but it's the shouting of adults, something very distinct from the shouting of children and instantly, the bullies scattered. The only person left was Yuan, who offered a hand up. There's a cut just under his eye, another along the side of his face and there were already a few bruises blossoming, but Kratos was sure that he didn't look much better.

The adults berated them and they both ducked their heads in mock-shame, but also to hide their smiles. Kratos' was more tentative because had he really just jumped into that fight? For Yuan? Was that what being friends was?

After the adults are gone and they're walking home, Yuan looked at him, gently prodding his own split lip. "Why did you do that?"

"You needed my help," Kratos said simply. No other thought had crossed his mind at that moment other than the fact that his best _(only)_  friend was getting beat up on his account. "And besides, why did you go and attack them like that for?"

"They bullied you.  _Someone_  needed to repay them, even if only a little bit. But still…you had to have been scared." For some reason, that was the point that Yuan seemed to want to focus on.

Before and during the fight, absolutely. But at that moment of decision, there had been a strange kind of clarity, one that he'd never felt before. The clarity and absolute assurance that this was the right thing to do.

"I was, a bit. But…you needed my help."

Yuan stops and simply stares at him. Kratos' face was probably prettier than his right now, having only a bruise on his cheek and part of his eye. From the way the bully had been kicking him, the bruises would be worse on his ribs. And Kratos had to have known that something like this would have happened when he jumped in like that, loyal idiot that he was. Yet he'd still done it.

Yuan's chuckles slowly became outright laughter. It made Kratos look at him a little uncertainly because there was nothing funny about this. "We're a real mess, aren't we?"

Kratos smiled back, though he wasn't sure why that sentence was something to smile at. "Yeah…yeah we are."


	7. Reaching for Stars in the Sky

* * *

 

" _When you see a guy  
_ _Reach for stars in the sky  
_ _You can bet that he's doin' it for some doll"_

_-For Some Doll_ _**(Guys and Dolls)** _

* * *

 

Winter passes in a flurry of slush and frost. One night, towards the end of winter, Kratos sneaks Yuan up onto the roof and teaches him the constellations.

"That's not what we call them," Yuan says. He scans the sky before pointing at the collection of stars that Kratos had always been taught was called Eben, like the hero in the history books. "That one's the man who was orphaned and left at Efreet's temple, where he grew up. By the time he was an adult, he could use fire as easily as the Summon Spirit himself, or so the story goes. But he fell in love with a woman, who was killed in the war, so he wrote her name in the sky with fiery letters so that the stars can whisper it every night and she wouldn't be forgotten." Yuan points again, this time a little to the right. "See? There's her name."

A lot of the constellations turn out like that, but Kratos has to admit that he likes Yuan's versions better. The one that Kratos knows as the Great Wolf, Yuan knows as Celsius' lover. The ancient gods were angry that Celsius had fallen in love with a human, so they cursed the human to become an animal. But Celsius refused to leave him and now, he can be seen at her side, a great white wolf who guards her because, even in that form, he hasn't stopped loving her.

Kratos writes these versions of the stories down in a notebook, careful not to write too fast, otherwise his handwriting will get messy. Sometimes, Yuan will flip through the notebook, slowly reading the words.

Kratos asks him why he reads it if he already knows the story so well.

Yuan glances up. "…I guess it's different to see it on paper. I mean, I grew up hearing these stories, but we never wrote any of them. We told them to each other. I guess I'm wondering what would happen if half-elves  _were_  able to write and read. I think Mama would like to see these. I think she used to like to read, once."

Kratos wraps his arms around his knees. "…Is your mom an elf?"

"Uh-huh. Poppi said that he fell in love with her when he got lost in the elven forest and she was sent to help him out. But when he looked up and saw her standing there, he thought he'd seen a goddess." Mama and Zaren had told him that it's a thing that gets rarer and rarer, a real half-elf. There are plenty of half-elves who are born to half-elven parents and they get lumped together in the same category. Sometimes, those kinds of half-elves get lucky because they can look more like one or the other, elf or human. Yuan and his brothers, including the ones he doesn't remember, are a pretty even mix of both. Even if Zaren has the bulk of a human, the long limbs of the elves make it look stretched out so he doesn't look  _too_ odd.

"Is your mom pretty?"

Yuan hesitates. "She used to be. Before my brothers went to the war, I think she used to be the most beautiful person in the world."

"Huh. I always thought my mom was pretty too."

"Do you have a picture? Poppi had a few in their bedroom. I used to sneak in to look at them." He's never seen anything about Kratos' mother in the house--no photos, no mementos--but he thinks that Kratos must look a lot like her because Yuan can't see much resemblance between him and his father.

"There's only the one picture and it's in my dad's study. It's from their wedding day." Kratos has studied the picture over and over, trying to imagine what her voice sounds like and what she would have talked about. Maybe he could have talked about books with her, in a way that he has never been able to do with his father. Maybe he could have told her how much he liked making stories.

"I like weddings," Yuan says, fingers still whispering over the pages. The texture of a page is entirely different when you know what it says. "Everyone's always so happy and there's so much food!"

Kratos chuckles a little at his enthusiasm. "I've never been to a wedding," he confesses.

"You can come to mine," Yuan tells him firmly.

"You're going to get married?" Kratos asks, startled.

"One day, yeah. And I want you to be there."

"Any idea who you'd get married to?"

"Of course not. But that's the interesting part. She could be anybody." Yuan is quiet for a moment before saying, "Is it weird to think that the person I'll marry is alive somewhere else, right now? Maybe she's even looking at the same stars that we are!"

Kratos laughs. "Yeah, maybe. I like that thought. That she can see the same stars even when she's far away." 

"Do you think it's possible to give a person a star?"

"What?"

"There's an old story that I remember Poppi telling me. There was a man who had to go away to war, but he didn't want his wife to forget him while she was away. So he climbed to the highest peak of the tallest mountain and brought down a star in a jar. He gave her the star, and told her that whenever she got lonely, to hold the jar and she would feel him nearby. But she didn't want him to forget her in the distant lands either. So she went to the mountain and brought down another star. 'So you won't get lonely' she said. And they found that they could talk to each other through their stars.

"But one night, she couldn't hear his voice, no matter how hard she tried. The next night, she got the news that he'd been killed. When she looked up, there was a new star in the sky, shining brighter than all the other ones. She knew it had to be him, so she released her star into the sky as well, but she hadn't realized that she'd put her heart into the star after so long of being bonded with it, so she died that night. But the star with her heart went up and took its place beside his and now they're forever beside each other."

Kratos hums in thought. "…Yeah, I think it's possible. Is that what you're gonna do? Get a star for her?"

"Well, I haven't seen any mountains nearby, so I can't get it for her. But I can save one for when I meet her. And I'll tell her that it's her star."

"And which one are you gonna pick? There's so many of them!"

Yuan looked through the skies carefully. This star had to be perfect. He didn't know what kind of girl he'd end up marrying, but she'd deserve a perfect star, he knows that much. Finally, he chooses a small one that's silvery-gold.

"Why such a small one?"

"I dunno. I think she'd be a down-to-earth kinda person. She deserves one of the big ones, but she likes the little one. Or, I think she does."

Kratos chuckles. "Besides, all of the heroes from the stories already took the big ones."

"Yeah, they did. Star-hoggers."

There's a beat of silence, then two, before they both burst out laughing. They try to smother the laughter before it's heard inside the house, but it's hard because up here, it feels like they're on top of the world.


	8. Stories of Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this chapter was two seperate ones, but I decided to consolidate it.

* * *

 

_And even if you were in some prison, the walls of which let none of the sounds of the world come to your senses - would you not then still have your childhood, that precious, kingly possession, that treasure-house of memories?  
~Rainer Maria Rilke_

* * *

Yuan groaned and let himself fall back onto the cool, tiled floor. "I think we ate too much."

Turning his head to look over at his best friend was almost too much effort for Kratos. "You think?" he asked dryly, a hand to his own stomach.

There are empty platters scattered through the kitchen, crumbs dusting the floors and counters. It all had been the leftovers of a dinner party in celebration of the new year. Yuan had been one of the slaves to help serve the drinks. He'd been told to hold the pitcher the entire duration of the dinner and his hands had been nearly frozen and trembling from the strain by the end of it. But even with all that, he'd noticed just how little Kratos ate, his eyes never lifting from the plate in front of him, hardly speaking unless it was in response to a question.

Yuan had been clearing up the plates, trying not to fall asleep at the same time, when Kratos had crept downstairs. He looked surprised to find Yuan there.

" _I thought everybody would be asleep by now."_

_Yuan shook his head. "Nope. There are enough dishes here to make a fortress out of." He eyed his friend. "Why are you here?"_

_Kratos' stomach grumbled then and he ducked his head, embarrassed. "I was hungry."_

" _I can see that." Yuan glanced around. Most of the other slaves were almost done with their portion of the work. The tables were cleared, the floors swept, the dishes already dry were being put away and everyone was sort of stumbling back towards the slave quarters. Yuan looked at the clock. It was after midnight and they'd all have to be up in a few hours._

" _C'mon. Let's steal some leftovers."_

And here they were, more than an hour later, laying on their backs with sated stomachs and staring up at the ceiling.

"I don't think I'll be able to eat for days," Yuan said, yawning.

"I don't think I'll be able to get up from here for days." Kratos was already dozing off a little. He could still hear Yuan, could still find the energy to reply, but it was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open.

Yuan pushed him with what little strength the half-elf could muster. "C'mon. We can't fall asleep here. The cook'll have our hides if we do."

Technically, the cook would only have Yuan's hide. Kratos was safe. He was human, was learned, had money, had his freedom.

But Yuan was learned now too, or was learning. And every night before he fell asleep, he found himself murmuring the alphabet and his numbers over and over until he could see them floating in the darkness above him. And if that didn't get him to sleep, he'd start saying his words and spelling them, over and over again, like a litany.

But Kratos sluggishly pushed himself up and simply blinked at the world for a few minutes as he worked himself back to full awareness. "Yeah, that doesn't sound fun."

Yuan barked a laugh. "It isn't." He held out his hands, limbs suddenly feeling like they really didn't want to work. "Help me up?"

Kratos obliged, standing so he can grasp the half-elf's hands and pull him to his feet. Kratos looks around, taking in the moonlights spilling through the windows across the floor, gilding the counters and cabinets with silver. He glances at the clock over the stove. "I don't think I've ever been up this late before."

"I have." Yuan said and he's too tired to elaborate on that. They're sort of, not quite, leaning on each other as they wander out of the kitchen. Across the hall from the kitchen is the laundry room and a linen closet. The back door is at the very end of the hallway and the other end goes out into the dining room.

"Really? Father never lets me stay up late."

Yuan has seen Kratos' father, has seen the stern set of the jaw and the no-nonsense stance. Sometimes, he wonders how such a man could have a son so very different from himself. "Mama never really cared what I did."

It's a gap that they're both all too aware of. They feel it, the lack of a father, even though the man had been caring and kind when he'd been there. The lack of a mother that Kratos can't remember.

And Kratos is suddenly very very aware of just how constricting being a slave would be for a person like Yuan. A person who had had his world at his feet, small as it might have been. A person who enjoyed running and climbing and listening to old stories of days that were slowly fading back into the sands of time.

"…What was your village like?" Kratos finds himself asking suddenly.

Yuan blinks at him for a moment, surprised, before he looks away. "…Nothing special."

Kratos stares at him. "It had to be  _something_  special. It was your home."

"It was a place I lived," he says through gritted teeth. _(He didn't want to remember the good times, didn't want to remember his family because it_ hurt _to do that)_  "That's it."

Kratos swings Yuan around to look at him. "How can you say that?"

Yuan's hold on his temper—already precarious because he'd had to be bowing and scraping and serving all night—snaps. "Because  _home_  doesn't get invaded by humans.  _Home_  doesn't have friends and family being marched out it in  _chains._   _Home_  doesn't have bombs falling out of the sky and it certainly doesn't go up in flames."

Kratos can't meet Yuan's eyes. "But it was still home once, wasn't it?"

Yuan is breathing a little hard and is surprised to find that there are traces of fear inside him. He isn't even sure why the fear is there. Kratos hasn't ever once shown anger, real anger, at him, but apparently, even months of knowing Kratos, of being friends with him, couldn't squash ten years of being told how evil humans were, of seeing them destroy his village, of being carried away in chains, screaming for Zaren, for anyone to help him.

"…Yeah. It was."

Kratos hesitates before asking the next question, not wanting to hear Yuan snap again. "Could you tell me about that home? The real one? The Before one?"

An instinctive part of Yuan wants to tell him no. Wants to keep his memories, his precious precious memories of his hometown, the one thing that no one could ever take away, all to himself. But this is Kratos, his best—and only—friend, and aren't you supposed to share those sorts of things with a best friend? Yuan doesn't know. He's never had a best friend before.

"…It always smelled of pomegranates and sheep. And the street performers would always be by the well in the center of the town. If I climbed up the pomegranate trees, all the way up the cliff, I could see the fields. Sometimes, it looked like it went on forever."

"Where did you hear your stories? Did your mom tell them to you?" It sounds like something a mom was supposed to do, not that Kratos would know.

Yuan finds it difficult to remember a time before Mama stayed in bed all day, before she fell apart at the news of Dehua and Kail's deaths. After that, there had been no more good days. He swallows before replying, "No. It was old man Duinser who would always tell us stories, but only if we asked real nice."

They're past the dining room, out into the foyer. Their voices are instinctively low because it's not far to Kratos' father's study and if the cook would have their hides, he would have the rest of them for being out so late. And Yuan didn't want to imagine what he'd say when he found his son consorting with a half-elven slave.

Kratos waits a few minutes to see if Yuan adds anything else, but he doesn't. Kratos likes the insight, likes the mental picture he's painted of Yuan's hometown, even if he probably had all the details wrong. He doesn't know what to say to the information he has, if he should say anything at all. Kratos rubs his arm nervously before saying, "…Tomorrow, I have something to show you."

Yuan can tell by looking at him, at the uneasy way he was standing, that it's something Kratos isn't entirely comfortable with sharing. Like his memories of home. So Yuan nods. "Okay."

* * *

 

Yuan hardly sees Kratos the next day, he's so busy. It's a custom among the humans to clean out the house on the day after the new year. The cook tells him it's because they believe in bad luck and spirits. Yuan thinks it's a little foolish. They thought cleaning would erase bad luck and drive out the evil spirits?

But regardless of his opinions on it, he must scrub, sweep, mop and dust until everything gleams and the floor is spotless. And that is all morning work. In the afternoon, he's told to go outside and help clear the fields for the spring planting. The ground now is hard and cold, the weeds and lonely stems stubborn.

By suppertime—or what used to be suppertime, when the sun is blazingly orange on the horizon—he's dirty, exhausted and wants nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep. But Kratos had said he'd show him something last night.

So Yuan trumps up the stairs—the ones that gleamed because he'd spent all morning cleaning them—and knocks on Kratos' door before poking his head in. "You in here?"

Kratos looks up, almost guiltily, from a sheaf of papers in his hands. He relaxes when he sees it's Yuan, but only marginally. Yuan tilts his head curiously at the papers. "What're those?"

"They're uh…just some stories I wrote."

Yuan sits by Kratos and skims over the papers. Kratos has told him that it's strange that Yuan can read Kratos' handwriting better than print on a page, but Yuan doesn't think it's so strange. After all, it's Kratos' handwriting that had taught him to read.

"What're they about?"

"Nothing important. Just…ideas."

Yuan looks at him. "They have to be important ideas if you wanted to write them down that badly."  _  
_

"They're adventure stories."

Yuan smiles and wraps his arms around his knees. "Yeah? What kinds?"

"There's one with pirates." Kratos hesitates before adding, "And magic too."

Yuan laughs. "That sounds incredible! Can…can I read them? Try to read them, anyway." He still isn't too fluent with words on paper, still stumbles and has to sound out a lot of words, but it's a fascinating, if frustrating, challenge.

"You really want to?"

"Of course! Why wouldn't I? You'd make great stories! But…I might need your help reading them."

Kratos smiles, relieved. "Yeah, I'll help you."

It takes Kratos a few minutes to put them back into order before they both scoot back to sit against the wall, but not before Yuan checks that the door is locked and that the window is closed. Yuan reads slowly, carefully, as if the words might fall apart or lose their meaning if they were spoken in too loudly or too firmly a tone. Kratos likes hearing Yuan read, stumbling as it is. Yuan's voice when he reads is sad, the kind of sad that came from the weak and the trapped, with their knowledge of the merciless minds of the strong.

Kratos corrects him gently and points out what he did wrong. "Here, the H is silent."

"Why?" Yuan asks.

"I don't know. They never tell us."

They only make it through a few paragraphs—something else that Yuan isn't quite sure why they're there—before a strong knock comes at the door and they both wince. Kratos quickly shoves the papers back into their hiding spot inside a book while Yuan scrambles to his feet, running to the bathroom to pretend he'd been running Kratos his bath.

"Kratos?" Agenor's voice came through the door.

Kratos crosses to the door, hastily unlocking it. "Sorry. I was getting ready for a bath."

Agenor flicks a glance at the bathroom, where the sounds of running water were indeed coming from. "I thought you usually took baths in the morning."

"After the party last night, I was so tired that I overslept."

"Don't you have a slave to wake you up?"

"Usually, yes, but all the slaves were set to clean today. It's not that big a deal."

"No, I suppose not." Agenor says slowly. "Kratos, I wanted to talk to you about something, if your bath can wait."

"Yes, of course. What is it?"

"Your father and I have been talking, and your father thinks that it's best that you go away to military school for the rest of your education."

Kratos finds that his brain doesn't quite feel like working and the more he tries to come up with a reply, the fewer thoughts there are in his head. Yuan freezes in the preparing of the bath. He didn't know the specifics, but he could put the general idea together.

Going away to military school. If Kratos leaves, Yuan will be without a friend. He'll just be another slave in the fields again. And Yuan knows full well what military means. Kratos would be learning to fight. To kill. The idea is ( _almost)_ laughable. Kratos? Quiet, bookish, shy Kratos would be in the military?  _(The idea is still terrifying. Kratos, with the same cold eyes his father has, dragging people from their homes and killing them)_

Agenor studies Kratos for his reaction. He'd expected something. Horror, shock, fear, maybe even excitement, though it was a long shot. But there is nothing on the usually expressive boy's face. "Kratos? What do you think?"

Kratos knows that the fact that he might have a choice in all this is an illusion. He is going to military school. Period. And without Yuan. Period. "I-I don't know what to say."

"It's a good experience, I promise. You'll learn a great variety of things. You like learning, right?"

_(Home doesn't get invaded by humans. Home doesn't have family and friends being marched out in chains! Home doesn't have bombs falling out of the sky and it certainly doesn't go up in flames!)_

Were those the kinds of things he'd be learning? How to hurt people and destroy lives? He doesn't want to learn those things. He only wants to become a writer and go on adventures with Yuan, like they always talked about. That's all.

"Yes, I-I like learning."

"Then you'll like military school."

"Wh-when do I leave?" How much time do he and Yuan have left?

"The new term starts next week, Monday. You'll have to be there on Sunday to get all your things ready, so you have to be sure to be ready to leave by Sunday morning, alright?"

Kratos nods, mouth suddenly very dry. A week. That's all the time he had left with his best friend before he never sees him again.

* * *

 

_Why can't we get all the people together in the world that we really like and then just stay together? I guess that wouldn't work. Someone would leave. Someone always leaves. Then we would have to say good-bye. I hate good-byes. I know what I need. I need more hellos.  
~Charles M. Schulz_

* * *

 


	9. Road to the Future

* * *

_A good friend is a connection to life - a tie to the past, a road to the future, the key to sanity in a totally insane world.  
~Lois Wyse_

* * *

 

"What's going to happen?" Yuan asks. He sounds very small, crouched in the corner like he is.

"I don't know," Kratos replies, sitting right beside him. The world seems suddenly large, too large for two little people like them. "I-I don't want to go to military school."

"We could run," Yuan suggests quietly. His eyes flicker up to Kratos. "It wouldn't be hard."

"Where would we go?"

"Somewhere. Anywhere. We could make our way back to my people's lands. They won't think to search for you there."

Kratos leans his head back against the wall. "Your people wouldn't accept me, won't hide me. Especially if the humans did the things you said they did."

"People can change. If they know you, they won't hate you," Yuan says it like it's an accepted fact. "…We could change things. I mean, we could make our peoples see things differently about each other."

"Yuan, that's impossible."

"We're kings of the world, remember? Nothing's impossible for us!"

"We're just kids!" Kratos shouts. He flinches at his own raised voice; he's never shouted at anyone before, let alone at Yuan. "...No one would listen to us," he continues more quietly. "And there are bandits and things on the road. They'd kill and rob us and then we'd be no better off."

"I think you read too many adventure stories."

"And besides, what about my dad?"

Yuan looks at Kratos and feels a sudden rush of anger, though he doesn't know why. "Kratos, an I ask you a question?"

The human blinks in confusion. "Yeah, of course."

"Why do you care so much about what your father thinks? I mean, he's always been kinda mean to you. Even I can see that and I ain't— _haven't_ —been here that long."

"He's my dad. I—" Kratos can't explain it. He's seen the other kids with their fathers, has seen the proud smiles on their parents' faces. He's heard the proud talk during the dinner parties. _(Didn't you hear? My son…amazing…done so well…)_  His father never talks about him like that. He wants to do good by his father, wants to give him something to talk about at the dinner parties too. "I want him to notice me."

"But…you don't want to go to military school." When Kratos nods, Yuan continues, "Why make yourself miserable, just for him?"

"Maybe this'll be my chance." Maybe he would finally look at his son and say 'Good work' or smile like the other parents did.

Yuan studies Kratos, sees the hopeful expression on his face. The decision"…Is there any way that you could take a slave with you to military school? 'Cause I can't let you go alone. You'd get in so much trouble without me and-and who would bail you out of it?" Yuan stops mid-rant because of Kratos staring at him. "What?"

"Yuan, you're a genius."


	10. Truths Not Spoken

 

* * *

 

" _It's often only in the lies we refuse to speak that any truth can be heard at all."  
—Mac_ _ **(DarkFever)**_

* * *

Kratos stares at the buildings that would be his world for the rest of his educational life. The buildings are wide and flat-roofed with several floors. There are long fields here, one of which had distinct ringing coming from it, that can be heard clearly even so far from the actual field. There is a thick wall going around the property, several feet thick and at least ten feet high. To Kratos, it looked like the edge of the world.

Yuan isn't far behind him, having to carry the bags. He looks around, looking very out-of-sorts and small. "Might as well put you in a prison," Yuan mutters just loud enough for Kratos to hear.

They're each shoved off in different directions, Yuan towards the building where the newest students slept, nearly falling with the powerful push and Kratos with the other trainees out towards the fields.

Kratos has never been a tall kid. He wishes he was, but then, he wishes for a lot of things. _(The only wish that had come true was his mischievous, half-elven best friend)_ The other trainees here seem tall, really tall. And big, sidewise. Kratos keeps his head ducked and only looks up to check the nametags of the others. He's third in line, behind two twins named Arbell.

A general—Kratos recognizes him from some of his father's dinner parties, but can't for the life of him remember his name—is speaking, something about how there areno children in his school. How there are only soldiers-in-training who would learn duty and loyalty to their country.

Kratos is only aware that they're supposed to be moving when the boy behind him—there are no girls here, he realizes. None that are human, at any rate—nudges him forward. The school is enormous and there are several training fields that are shown to them. Combat from horseback, swords, lances, spears and—apparently this was a very new class—rifles.

Kratos lights up at the mention of a library, though the building is small in comparison to the others, squashed in between the administration and the classrooms. The windows are small and high up, and Kratos can't get a good look inside, but he memorizes its spot for future reference.

The mess hall is across a small courtyard from the library. It's long and the ceiling has a strange effect of feeling like it was going to fall on you. The tables are little more than metal picnic benches put end on end.

"The day starts promptly at 0800 hours. If you are late, expect to be running laps. There is no leaving the dorms afterhours. If you are caught, you'll be scrubbing the latrines—all of them—with a toothbrush. Cheating is not tolerated. If you are caught, expect to be mucking out the stables.

"You should all have your room assignments in your hands. The letter is the building that you're in. Your uniforms should be in your dorms already. Class schedules are to be handed out tomorrow morning at breakfast. Dismissed."

It takes Kratos what feels like forever to find even the correct building, let alone the right room. He's jostled and pushed and more than once, his shoulders scrape the walls and his knees bang on bricks. When he finds the right room, he quickly ducks inside, glad to be away from the tame chaos that was in the hallway.

Their dorm is one-room with a rickety bookshelf beside a desk and a bed along the opposite wall with a thin blanket and pillow on the floor for Yuan. Yuan is standing by the window, peering out at the school. "This place is huge!"

"I know. I just got lost in it. Three times." Kratos throws himself back on the bed and is aware of something poking him in the small of his back. He sits up, slightly annoyed and finds a now-wrinkled gray shirt and black pants. It had been the belt buckle that had been biting into his back.

Kratos stares at the uniform, measuring it mentally. "Is it me or is this uniform too big?"

Yuan looks at it and shrugs. It's a strange question to him. Growing up, he'd never had his own clothes. They were hand-me-downs and it didn't matter if they were too big because they were too small on Zaren. "Try it on."

Kratos does. The uniform is at least a size too big, the sleeves very nearly swallowing his hands and he's going to have to roll up his pant hems. Thank heavens he had a belt, or the pants wouldn't have stayed up.

"This is way too big on me!" Kratos says, looking down and spinning in a circle, as though it'll change things.

"They must've made a mistake," Yuan suggests, but he's not stupid. He knows that the school asked the uniform size for its new students. And from what Yuan knows of Sandor Aurion, he wouldn't have mentioned just how small his son is any more than he would have mentioned just how bookish he is.

He knows that Kratos' father lied about his size, but he can't tell Kratos that. Not when Kratos wants so badly to please him.

"Maybe," Kratos says quietly, tugging at the too long sleeves.

But Kratos isn't an idiot either. He just doesn't want to say it out loud because when you say something out loud, you make a promise to the air, make it real. And Kratos wants very much for it not to be real.


	11. Whispers in the Night

* * *

 

_Are we not like two volumes of one book?  
~Marceline Desbordes-Valmore_

* * *

They sneak into the library through the front door. Yuan is surprisingly skilled at picking locks and when Kratos asks him where he learned how to do that, Yuan replies that he spent a lot of time with some street performers back home.

The library is not a beautiful one. Its shelves are cold metal and the building is blocky. The tables are wooden with sharp edges. But the books! Leather-bound and paperbacks; thick and short or tall and thin. 

Yuan stares. He can't stop. Despite the gloomy atmosphere, the library is incredible. "I've never seen so many books in all my life!" He looks back at Kratos, eyes bright in the darkness. "And they all tell different stories?"

Kratos can't help smiling at Yuan's excitement. "Yeah."

Yuan laughs a little breathlessly, spinning to take the library in. "That's—that's amazing!" He runs his fingers along the spines as he races down the aisles. He picks one at random and opens it. He doesn't read the words, just knows that he _can._ He's _choosing_ not to read and that makes all the difference in the world.

The half-elf looks back up at his best friend. "D'you think we can read them all?"

"We can try."

They curl into a corner, lighting the candle that they'd brought with them. It's dangerous to have a candle near so many books--Fire is always hungry for paper, for words--but they sit on the floor and read by the flickering light, their voices little more than whispers in the night.

A door bangs open and the book snaps shut as Kratos blows out the candle. They're scrambling to their feet and hiding behind some low bookshelves, hardly daring to breathe.

Lantern light spills across the floor. "Hello?"

It's the librarian, a stern looking older woman with gray streaks in mouse brown hair. Kratos almost wants to peer out, something instinctive wanting to see the person calling for them, but Yuan keeps him back, both of their hearts thudding so loudly that they fear that the librarian would hear them.

But the lantern light recedes in the other direction and Yuan tugs Kratos silently towards the door. Now's their chance.

With a glance over their shoulders to make sure that the librarian is facing the other way, they sneak out the front door and make a break for the dorms. It's only after they're shutting the door to their room behind them, their backs sliding down the wood until they're sitting back against it, that they laugh a little breathlessly as their hearts slow back down.

Twelve year old fear is a powerful thing. Twelve year old relief is exhilarating.


	12. A Strange One

* * *

_You cannot shake hands with a clenched fist.  
~Attributed to both Golda Meir and Indira Gandhi_

* * *

Yuan is a strange one, the other slaves think. He's not wild, like so many half-elven boys are, and he has some street smarts to him. Not that that's what makes him so strange. Every child is different after all. But the boy has more than simple street smarts. He doesn't usually join in the conversations in the laundry rooms unless invited, choosing to listen and watch the others with blue-green eyes.

The strangest thing about him is that he seems to actually _like_ his master. Master Aurion is small for twelve years old, with a rather quiet personality. He is better than many masters that most of the slaves had had in the past, but having a master at all is not a good thing.

The other slaves have seen them together. They snicker and grin like there are no boundaries between them, like one hadn't hit the genetic jackpot and was born fully human. It's unnatural.

"Pretending ta be friends with them don't make it any easier to be set free, y'know," a girl tells him one day when they're once again at the laundry. It's muddy outside, and their knees are dirty and uncomfortably moist with the sun beating down on them. It's only spring, but after hours of being outside, even spring sunshine got hot.

Yuan glances up at her. Alina is her name, he thinks. "What?"

"That's why you are the way ya are, isn't it?" Her voice has a country drawl it, subtle and half-forgotten. She can't be much older than Yuan and he wonders when she got taken from her family. Her friends, her life. "It's why you're so close to Master Aurion, ain't it?"

Yuan has to work not to correct her language. "It's really not." He and Kratos agreed that people shouldn't find out about their friendship, that it could put Yuan in danger if they did. But Alina is just a kid, like them. A little older, perhaps, but a kid. And every kid knows the Rat Rule. You never rat out another kid. Never. "…He's my friend. For real."

Alina stares at him as though he's grown another head. "Humans hate us."

"I know. But Kratos is different."

"I doubt that Master Aurion is different from the other humans at all," Alina says, voice brittle. She is like so many half-elves are about humans. Sharp-edged, mistrusting and cold.

Yuan has tried to use the title before, when he's trying to play the charade in front of the humans that no, he and Kratos aren't best friends. The words don't fit right in his mouth, like he took a too big bite out of something. The title just doesn't fit with Kratos, the best friend.

"I swear, he is." Can't rat out another kid, Yuan reminds himself. Admitting they were friends is one thing. Admitting that Yuan knows how to read, albeit slowly, and is learning arithmetic rather quickly, is a different matter altogether.

"If you say so," Alina says doubtfully. Yes, that is what their world is made of now. Doubts and misconceptions and all Yuan wants to do is return to summer nights on the roof, telling stories of the constellations or climbing pomegranate trees to see the distant horizon.

Yuan isn't sure why she doesn't understand, why she's so stubborn in thinking that humans and half-elves really can't be friends.

* * *

 

Kratos should be used to feeling small. He's been the smallest kid around for as long as he can remember. But here, here there is something very…wild...that hadn't been back home.

They hear rumors of fights every day. Sometimes, people in his classes will show up with black eyes and split lips and the rumors start with a new ferocity. Kratos sits near the back of the class, by the window, and is always careful to hide his novels behind the textbooks. Reading for pleasure is an unspoken taboo among his classmates and Kratos, for the first time in his life, can't wait for the bell signaling the end of class to ring.

* * *

 

They share the bed, mostly because they're both stubborn enough when they want to be. Kratos had been the first to say that Yuan wasn't sleeping on the floor and that he should take the bed. Yuan had naturally said no because Kratos shouldn't have to sleep on the floor either. So, logically, the only answer was that they share the bed.

Yuan moves in his sleep. A lot. Most of the time, Kratos doesn't mind because they're small things like shifting position. But Yuan has nightmares, even if he won't talk about them out loud.

One morning as they're both getting ready for their day, Kratos asks him, "What do you see?"

Yuan stares at him like he doesn't know what he's talking about. "What?"

"In your dreams," Kratos clarifies. "What do you see?"

Yuan avoids his eyes. "Home. The way it's supposed to be." With no ashes, no bodies in the streets, sitting with Zaren and Mama at their rickety dinner table. Then Yuan looks back up at him, eyes narrowed. "How do you know about my dreams?"

"You talk in your sleep sometimes." Kratos hesitates before saying, "It's okay to miss them, y'know."

"Of course I know that," Yuan says defensively, automatically, but there's a grateful half-smile on his lips.

* * *

 

Yuan is shaken from that strange place of mind that he went into when he did laundry, a place built on repetitive motions and tuned out conversations. "Yuan! Yuan, guess what?"

He nearly drops the shirt he's washing, Kratos is shaking him so hard. It takes a second to hit him and then he really does drop it. "What're you _doing_ here?"

The area where the half-elves do most of their chores, whatever they may be, is out behind the kitchens. It's barren out there and there is always the hope for a cool breeze to relieve the heat. It's well away from the classrooms and the practice fields.

"I had to tell you something."

"Don't you have class right now?" Yuan is standing now, the coolness from the mud he'd been kneeling creating an odd sensation on the knees of his pants.

"Yes, but this is really important!"

Yuan studies his best friend. Kratos is sweaty and his face a little red from exertion. Yuan casts his mind back to the schedule that Kratos kept tacked onto the wall by the door. Sword training. That's where he'd just come from. "What is it?"

"We got to use the practice swords today." Before this, they'd been learning to make their own swords and physical training. Kratos is usually exhausted for the rest of the day thanks to sword training.

"Congratulations?"

"I'm not done. We got to use them and the drill master set us to spar a bit with each other. And—this is the miracle—I'm actually not completely terrible at it!"

Yuan blinks at him. "What?"

"I think I actually might have some kind of talent with swords!"

Yuan wants to be happy for him, he really does. But he knows that particular tilt to Kratos' smile. Kratos isn't happy about this for himself. Not entirely anyway. Most of the excitement is because Kratos is thinking that his father might notice him now, might have a reason to notice him.

Yuan thinks he might actually hate Sandor Aurion for that. This should be Kratos' moment, not his.

But Yuan grins in the dubiously supportive way of friends. "You? Have talent in something physical? This I've gotta see."

Kratos laughs, exhilarated. "I just skipped class to tell you!"

"And whose decision was that?" Before Kratos can come up with a retort, Yuan says, "Get to class before you're scrubbing the latrines!"

Kratos grins briefly before beginning to run to his next class. He'll still probably be made to run laps for this, but today, it's worth it.

* * *

 

"You weren't lying."

Yuan looks over at Alina. Kratos had left nearly a half hour ago—Yuan had finally been taught to read a clock, though sometimes he would glance at the clock three times and still not know what time it was. Kratos assured him that that was normal—and Alina hadn't said a word since.

"Lying about what?" Yuan asks.

"You and Master Aurion being friends. It's true."

"I told you it was."

"Yeah, but…I didn' think it was possible." They revert back to their silence for long minutes before she speaks up again. "He can hurt you, ya know. Humans do that."

"Kratos doesn't." Yuan doesn't think he has the temperament for hurting people, on purpose or otherwise.

Alina looked unconvinced. "If you say so."

Yuan is a strange kid, her opinion on that hasn't changed. His hair is an odd color and she can't predict the way he thinks. The strangest thing about him is that she's not sure whether to call him brave or stupid because he has to be one or the other to be friends with a human.


	13. Concerning Men and Boys

_It is important that students bring a certain ragamuffin, barefoot irreverence to their studies; they are not here to worship what is known, but to question it.  
~Jacob Bronowski_

* * *

"You out here again?" Yuan yawns, fighting sleepiness.

Kratos looks over at him, the practice sword still in his hands. He still isn't as strong as the other kids, but he's faster on his feet and, slowly, he can feel the sword becoming lighter, his arms getting accustomed to the weight of it. "I have to practice."

"In the middle of the night?"

"It's the only time this place is empty."

Yuan can't even argue with him on that. The practice field seems so very open when it's just the two of them out here, as though it'll go on forever like the fields of back home. "You're not getting enough sleep."

"'Course I am." Yuan gives him a look. They share a room; it's hard to hide sleeping habits in such close quarters, and even if Kratos had been good enough to hide it, there are smudged shadows underneath Kratos' eyes and he's been moving more lethargically these days. And they both know it. "I need to be good at this by the end of the term!"

"What's at the end of the term again?" Yuan is sure he would have remembered had he not been nearly asleep on his feet.

"Class competitions."

He says it so casually that, at first, the words didn't seem to be very important. But then Yuan looked at him. "You're going to compete against the others in your class?"

"…Yeah."

"Kratos, I'm not sure you're aware, but those guys are like…mountains compared to you!"

"I'm faster than them!"

"Great. How's that gonna help?"

"I don't have to stand up to them. I just have to go around."

Yuan stuffs his hands in his pockets, toes squirming in the dewy grass. "…If you say so."

"You don't think I can do it?" Kratos lowers the sword to the ground, not taking his eyes off Yuan.

"Of course I do!" The idea that he doesn't believe in his best friend is a little insulting. 

"Then what's the problem?"

"That you're gonna be squished like a bug under a flyswatter is what!"

Kratos knows that Yuan has a point, that he's only watching out for him like he's been doing since they'd met. "I need to be good."

"For your dad, right?"

"Yeah."

Yuan sighs. He doesn't think he'll ever understand Kratos in this department, but then, what does he know about fathers? Poppi had been drafted before he'd ever really gotten to know him.  "…Can I help?"

"What?" Kratos thinks that maybe all these nights with little sleep are starting getting to him.

"How can I help you get better at this?" Yuan has already resigned himself to a night of probably no sleep. But he figures that he could put up with that. If Kratos doesn't do well in these competitions, Yuan is going to be out a best friend, and will probably be sent back to the Aurion mansion to work in the fields. 

"I thought you didn't want me to do this."

"I still don't, but I figure that there isn't any way for me to stop you, so I might as well help."

Kratos smiles gratefully. "I could use a sparring partner."

"I can do that. Can't guarantee I'll be much good, but I can do it. Where're the practice swords?"

"Do you even know how to use one?"

"Sure I do. Pointy end goes in the other guy."

Kratos bursts out laughing, even as Yuan grins wryly at him. They have to be absolutely insane to think that Kratos even has a chance at this, but they figure it's better to at least try. At least then, they still have something to laugh about.

* * *

They spend most nights out there, dodging the teachers and guards monitoring the hallways. And on nights when the weather is too bad to even think about going out there, they spend the night catching up on much needed sleep. 

Yuan doesn't like the feel of the sword in his hand. It's awkward and he doesn't really know how to use it--like he'd told Kratos, he's just going to try and hit him, and Yuan ends up with a few bruises from Kratos' blunt practice blade. He knows Kratos feels guilty about it; he can feel his eyes on him when Yuan get dressed in the morning, wincing a little as he stretches the wrong way. Yuan doesn't let him apologize though. He'd been the one to volunteer to help him, after all.

Besides, he gets Kratos back. Not as often, but there are some mornings where Kratos groans as he rolls out of bed, ribs and arms sore.

* * *

"You're not built for the sword."

Yuan nearly leaps out of his skin. How had he not heard the old man? "What're you talking about?"

"I seen you. You and the boy you serve. You practice swords at night."

Yuan tenses. The fields are empty at night, they always double-check that. "What do you do out that late anyway?"

The old man is grizzled, with hard lines etched into skin browned by long hours in the sun. A ragged scar runs across his right eye from forehead down until it tugs at the corner of his lips, making him appear to be smiling impishly. A mane of silvery hair is held in check only by a leather tie.

He leans back against the fence post. "I'm the groundskeeper here. And some plants only show their faces under the light of the moon. But going back to my original point, you're not suited for the sword."

"I don't hafta be. I just need to help him."

Yuan goes to turn back to cleaning the stables, but the old man's words stop him short. "You're as loyal as a dog, ain't cha?"

Yuan bristles. "I'm not a dog."

The old man appraises him with a single crystalline eye. "The only thing an attitude like that'll do for a slave is get y' flogged."

"Doesn't matter. And I'm not gonna be a slave forever!"

"No?" The old man chuckles. "Looks like the rumors 'bout you are true, boyo. You _are_ a strange one."

"What're you talkin' to me for anyway?" The horse by Yuan's ear whickers quietly, shifting restlessly. That horse is an old warhorse, too aged to be on the battlefield anymore, but perfect for teaching new soldiers how to ride. He's a gentle one though, or at least, to Yuan he is. Yuan absentmindedly reaches up to stroke him between the eyes, soothing him.

"Wanted to help ya."

"Oh really? With what?"

"With fightin'. The way I figure it, you're a boy who ain't gonna let them get to ya."

"Who's they?"

"Most kids woulda known who I meant."

"What happens if I don't?"

"Who taught you to be so smart, boyo?"

"My Poppi." Yuan has been solidifying the story in his mind, should anyone get suspicious.

"Yeah? What'd he teach you?"

This is slowly heading into dangerous territory. "Bit of this an' that."

"Where you from?"

"The mountains in the northeast."

"Yes, it shows. Your accent," the old man explains at the puzzled look that Yuan gives him. "It makes it very obvious."

Yuan hadn't been aware that he has an accent. He doesn't notice it when he's talking, and Kratos has never said anything. "Where are you from, old man?"

His eye gets a strange look to it, one that reminds Yuan of Mama when people talked about Poppi, or Dehua and Kail. Yuan doesn't understand that. Home is where you came from and how could remembering home make you sad? "Very far away from here."

"What was it like?"

"There were trees that looked like they grew up until they'd touch the sky. It was very green there."

"Do you remember what it smelled like?" Yuan asks because he doesn't think he can ever forget the smell of pomegranates and lamb.

The old man chuckles. "That's an interesting question."

"Does it have an interesting answer?" Yuan counters.

"I can't remember now. It's been a long time since I was there."

Yuan tilts his head curiously. "Did you used to be a swordsman?"

The man's eye flashes. "I still _am_ a swordsman, boy! It's not somethin' you stop doing when you get too old. It's a part of you."

"Could you teach Kratos?"

"What?"

"Kratos," Yuan repeats. "He…he's good at swordsmanship, but he's so small that the teachers won't really look at 'im. Can you teach him?"

"Humans ain't the kind of people who like to be taught by half-elves."

"People keep saying that! Not everybody's the same!"

"Boyo, at some point, you start noticing that a lot of people are."

"But Kratos isn't! He's my best friend and you should teach him! He deserves it!"

"Why?" the old man challenged. "Why's he your best friend? What about him make it so I should help him?"

Yuan opens his mouth to tell him about the things Kratos has risked, the things he'd taught him, but then he remembers that no one is supposed to know about it because it's their secret and adults never believe kids anyway, so he clamps his mouth shut.

"…He just does," he says finally.

"How long you been a slave, boy?"

"A little over two years."

_(Two years, the old man thought. His first thought was to scoff, to tell the boy that two years was nothing, that he'd been a slave for fifty years. But, to a boy, two years must seem like forever. Clearly, the boy was stubborn and hadn't had the fire stomped out of him like so many slaves)_

"And you like humans?"

Yuan's nose wrinkles. "Not all of them. To be honest…I think I hate most of them. They raided my village. But Kratos is different."

"Clearly," the old man murmurs. "Tell you what. I'll teach him swords if you agree to learn to fight too."

"You said I'm not right for a sword."

"I didn't say with a sword, did I? This is a military school. I'm sure there are weapons here that suit you better."

Yuan remembers waiting in his village with his aunties and grannies, with Mama and Zaren, waiting for news from the front, waiting to see if Poppi's okay, if Dehua and Kail are coming home soon. He remembers thinking that there's no point in fighting, that there are so many soldiers out there already. What difference can one person do?4

But now, Yuan understands differently. He knows he can't make a difference to the world; the world doesn't give two figs about who he is. But it's not about making a difference in the world. It's about making a difference in the little piece of the world that's yours, and if the only thing he does with the skills he'll learn is protect his best friend, then that's plenty.

"…Yeah. Yeah, I'll do it."

The old man nods. He likes this kid, likes his spirit. "I got one more question for you."

"Do you ever run out of questions, old man?" Yuan asks, slightly irritated. It's been another in a series of long days, and he's tired, and after he finished cleaning the stables, he could go to bed. He's been without more than little catnaps worth of sleep for nearly thirty hours.

The old man acts as if he hadn't heard him. "Why do you care so much about this human? This Kratos?"

Yuan looks at him as if he isn't sure why he's asking the question. "He's my best friend. Do I need another reason?"

The old man's face softens a little in thought, his mouth twisting in some strange approximation of a smile. "No. I suppose you don't. Go out to yer usual field tomorrow night. I'll teach the both of ya."

"Tomorrow? Why not tonight?"

"Because clearly, you both need your sleep." The look on the old man's face is daring him to deny it.

"We got— _have_ —lots of work to do." Kratos is slowly introducing Yuan to grammar and, while it's annoying sometimes, Yuan finds that he kind of likes it. When he hears himself speak, it isn't just some uneducated kid. He sounds smart, sounds like someone _important._

"And those human kids can't muck out the stables as often as you do? It's their punishment, but since you clean the worst of it, it's not much of a punishment, is it? You've cleaned this place plenty. Let them finish the job."

"I was always told to never leave a job unfinished." Zaren used to tell him that, when he found Yuan slacking off on the laundry.

"I think you're better off leaving this undone in this case. Get some sleep, boyo. You need it."

Yuan can argue more, but it's been a struggle to stay awake for the past week. The little sleep he managed to sneak in after he and Kratos trained out in the fields or when he could coax Alina to do a chore for him so he could catch a few minutes of sleep—she'd only started agreeing after he'd fallen asleep over the bucket of cold water that they washed clothes in—isn't enough.

So all he says is, "Thanks, old man," before leaning the broom against the wall and dashing out of there.

* * *

 

Kratos looked as tired as he does when Yuan comes into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He was squinting at Yuan in the doorway, the lighting dim because of the meager desk lamp.

Yuan lets himself fall on the bed. "Got good news for you."

"And what's that?"

"I found a guy to teach you swords. Properly too."

Kratos whips around in his seat to look at him. " _What?_ Who?"

"Groundskeeper. Apparently he was a swordsman and he says that I'm not suited for swordsmanship."

"And he'll really teach me?"

" _Mm_ hm."

Kratos' grin should have lit up the world. "Have I ever told you that you're amazing?"

Yuan responds to Kratos' grin with one of his own. "I could stand to hear it more often."

 


	14. Pinky Promises

* * *

 

_There's no other love like the love for a brother. There's no other love like the love from a brother.  
~Astrid Alauda_

* * *

 

Yuan flops back on the bed, not minding when Kratos does the same not a moment later, landing partially on his arm. He's aching in places he isn't sure it are possible to _have_ aches, but he doesn't mind them because it means that things are changing. "That old man's crazy."

Kratos turns his head so he can see Yuan properly. "He's helping us."

"I know. Doesn't mean he isn't crazy. Sometimes I think he'll run us into the ground with those drills of his." But something about Yuan thrives under that kind of pressure, when people work him so hard that they think he might fail. Something inside him rises up to rebel, and makes him work even harder, pushing farther.

"Y'know…this means people won't be able to push us around anymore."

Yuan smiles. He's gotten pushed around more because he's a slave and it's okay to do that to half-elves here. He's fought back before, has gotten beat down for it, but now he can really _fight_. "I like that."

And he knows that Kratos likes that too, even if he doesn't usually get beat up on too much these days. Everyone is too concentrated on Yuan. With Kratos, it's mostly smaller stuff like knocking books out of his hand and shoving him into walls. And the name-calling.

Sometimes, Yuan thinks that the bullies know just how to hurt people the most. With Kratos, it's words because Kratos knows the power of words and Kratos, with his fantastic memory and love for words, will remember every one, will hear them echoing in his mind for days afterwards.

"…Someone came to talk in one of my classes today." It's been bothering Kratos all day, nagging at the back of his mind. He can think of no one better than Yuan to talk about it to. "Started talking about life after school."

"You've been here, what, six, seven months? How long does school last anyway?"

Sometimes, Kratos forgets that, before they'd met, Yuan hadn't even known what a school was. "I know I'm supposed to graduate when I'm seventeen."

Yuan's face creases with an emotion Kratos doesn't quite know how to describe. "You're twelve! You've got _forever_ until you turn seventeen. Why are they worrying about what you're going to do then?"

Five years. The number is small, but the time seems so very long. Kratos remembers five years ago. He'd been seven, lonely, and he hadn't met the boy beside him with his slanted eyes and bright laughter. Yuan is right. Five years _i_ _s_ forever.

"I dunno."

Perhaps Yuan senses his mood, the concern beneath it all because he rolls over on his side, blue eyes watching him. "What _do_ you want to do? When you're a grownup, I mean."

"…I wanna be a writer. Or a teacher. I think I'd like those."

"You're a real good teacher, Kratos." Yuan isn't looking at him, embarrassed. "Not sure I ever told you that."

He's never had to. Kratos sees it when Yuan's face lights up with every new word he learns, with every sentence he reads. With each math problem he solves correctly, and every time Kratos asks him what time it is and Yuan would look at the clock and proudly proclaim the answer.

"We'll get out of here one day," Kratos says. "We'll find a place where no one will bother us, where they won't care whether I'm a human or you're a half-elf and we'll live there. And you can find that girl you're gonna marry—"

"And you can have a house with a room _full_ of books and it'll be all yours."

"And we can live right next to each other—"

"And you'll be my kids' uncle." Yuan hesitates slightly before saying that, perhaps guessing Kratos' reaction.

A slight crease of confusion wrinkles Kratos' brow. "I thought that, to be an uncle, your brother or your sister would have to have a kid."

"I dunno…you just…I guess…we're like brothers, aren't we? I thought it would be okay." It's like back home. Everyone in their building had been family, even though Yuan knows that he hadn't been actually related to most, if any of them. But they had shared Celsius Days and festivals; anniversaries and birthdays. They had been there for just about everything that each other went through. Isn't that family?

Kratos is staring at him like he can't believe what he's hearing. "You really want to be my brother?"

Yuan glances away. "I-If you don't want to, th-that's okay. I mean, it does sound kinda stupid—"

"It doesn't sound stupid at all!" Kratos says, and he's smiling big and wide like Yuan has just given him the world. "It sounds wonderful!"

Yuan's smile is uncertain at first, as though he doesn't totally believe what Kratos is telling him, but when Kratos doesn't laugh or change his mind, his smile widens. "Brothers?"

"Yeah. Brothers."

Yuan holds out a pinky. "You gotta promise. Promise that we'll always be brothers."

Kratos grins and hooks pinkies with him. "Of course we will! Forever."


	15. Chapter 15

 

_Trust is letting go of needing to know all the details before you open your heart.  
~Author Unknown_

* * *

 

The boys are hardworking, the old man notes. Perhaps this new generation won't be so lost after all, like so many others of older generations complain about.

The human boy—Kratos, he reminds himself. He has a name—is a little clumsy, but he's smart. He learns by watching, the old man notices. He watches him demonstrate it several times before attempting to do the move by himself. Usually, there are few mistakes.

The other boy—Yuan—he throws himself into the training with a lack of fear that reminds the old man of someone who is too accustomed to being high up to bother with remembering what the ground feels like. He's creative and sometimes a little snarly, but then Kratos will quietly come up to him and point out what the old man had just pointed out as wrong.

They had found a double-ended spear in the storage room, half rusted and splintered. But the old man had seen Yuan's face when they found it and the boy had seemed drawn to it. He'd smiled and said that he'd find some sandpaper to take care of the splinters and that surely, there had to be something for rust somewhere in this military school.

Now, the spear gleams in the moonlight, and Yuan is slowly becoming almost graceful with it, despite the fact that the spear is taller than him by almost two heads and a half.

The old man stops him, and sweeps out the inside of Yuan's leg so that his stance widens. "Legs apart. If you're not grounded, you're going to end up on the ground and then you'll be dead. And relax your shoulders. You won't be able to react quickly enough otherwise."

Yuan catches Kratos subtly shifting his stance and glares at him, slightly irritated that he hadn't gotten caught. Kratos just smirks.

The old man works them hard, until they're shaking with the effort to stand and they have to work for breath. Finally, when they're collapsed on the ground, weapons about them, the old man will hand them a canteen of water.

After handing the canteen to Yuan, Kratos asks, "Where'd you learn all this?"

The old man glances at him. "What?"

"How to fight. Where'd you learn?"

"That's not important."

"It is to me."

The old man studies him. Kratos was not one for demanding answers, but he was not above quietly insisting or wheedling them out of people. It's subtle, especially for a child, and it hints at the intelligence behind the young exterior. The boy will be frightening when he grows into himself, when he finds his confidence.

"Why?" The old man asks finally.

Kratos looks genuinely confused. "I'm just curious."

Yuan doesn't seem surprised, and the old man catches the way that suddenly, the half-elf's attention is focused on him, listening for any hesitation, studying his body language. Yes, the boy knows how to make himself invisible, knows how to keep all the attention off of him. It's a necessary skill for a slave.

"I'm sure you've heard about what that did to the proverbial cat."

"How wonderful that I'm not a cat, isn't it?" Kratos shoots back. 

"Yes, I suppose it is." The old man leans against the fence. "And the answer to your question is very simple. My master taught me."

"And what was the name of the place you were at at the time?"

"Now you're asking the proper questions. It was in the elven lands."

"Half-elves aren't welcome there," Yuan speaks up.

The old man is careful about his next words. "No, they aren't."

The sudden guardedness in Yuan's eyes lets him know that the half-elf has put two and two together. Yes, the boy is bright, particularly when instincts are involved.

"You're an elf," Yuan says quietly. "A full-blooded one."

"Yes."

Suddenly, Kratos is tense. Even in these children, so far from the front of the war, the prejudice is strong. Though, the old man admits, in this case, it's not prejudice so much as protectiveness. The boys are very close after all.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Kratos' voice is deceptively calm, but the old man can hear the suspicion, the distrust beneath it.

"Because it doesn't matter."

"It kind of does," Yuan says when Kratos keeps quiet. "Why are you so far from your homeland? Why would you want to help out a human and a-a…a _half-breed._ " The last word is spat out, and the old man knows that the boy has heard that word too many times.

"I have never and will never use that term with you." To his shame, the old man has used it before, in the hazy days of his youth so many decades ago. But he's changed a great deal since then.

"Doesn't matter. _Why?_ "

"Because you need my help. Do I need a better reason?"

The old man sees Yuan open his mouth to argue before he snaps it shut again. The boy has no argument for that one. But Kratos steps up, moving just a little in front of Yuan. It's instinctive and protective, something that the old man thinks he'd like to see again when the boy became a man. _(The only time that the boy was unafraid, was confident, was when he was with Yuan)_ "You didn't answer the first question."

"That is none of your business, boyo. Trust me or not, as you choose, but choose now."

The boys glance at each other, soundless words passing between them. _(Should we…don't…helped us…an elf…trusted you, didn't I…different…)_

"We'll trust you," Kratos says, turning back towards him. _(They always spoke like that, in terms of we and us and everyone else was Them)_. "For now."


	16. Winning

" _Winners forget they're in a race. They just love to run."  
—With Honors_

* * *

 

The first time Kratos is ever in a swordfight—a real one, not sparring with Yuan—is during the class competitions, and he is shaking with tension, his hands unable to keep still. He nearly quita twice, but each time, Yuan blocks the door, telling him in no uncertain terms that there is no way that they'd gone through all that training to back out now.

Sometimes, Kratos wants to hate Yuan, but at the same time, he's grateful.

"Stop fidgeting, boyo," the old man—their teacher—says sternly.

"Can't help it. I'm gonna do badly, I know it."

The old man arches thick, silvery eyebrows before digging into his pocket and tossing Kratos a flask, which he nearly drops in fumbling hands. "Take a few sips of that."

Kratos obeys without asking what the contents are and regrets it. He gags when the liquid hits his tongue, resisting the urge to spew it out. "What _is_ that?"

"Whiskey."

Kratos scrapes his tongue against his teeth, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. "That tastes gross!"

Yuan takes the flask, sniffing it before taking a cautious, tiny sip. The next instant, his expression goes sour. "Kratos is right. Why would you ever drink something like that?"

The old man nods at Kratos. "Helps calm the nerves."

Kratos shakes his head. Never again, he vows. He won't ever drink whiskey again. "Not worth it with that taste."

"Kratos Aurion!" someone calls out.

Kratos glances at Yuan. "My father is going to be out there. What happens if I do badly?"

Yuan smiles. "Then we steal food from the kitchen tonight and celebrate anyway. You're gonna do fine. Who's had a better teacher out there than you?"

Kratos returns the smile a little tentatively. "If you say so."

"I do say so. Now get your butt out there before they have to drag you out there."

The fight is both terrifying and electrifying and Kratos can't remember anything specific. He remembers the sword first coming at him, remembers the instinct to _move_ , remembers his sword being in his hand without him ever consciously thinking about it. He remembers the _thud_ of the sword—they're wooden because heaven knew that the boys would kill each other otherwise—against his ribs, remembers faltering and wanting to go to his knees because of the pain, but he remembers that his _father_ is watching, somewhere and he sees Yuan watching from the sidelines, their teacher standing tall beside him and he knows that he can't disappoint them _(Even though Yuan would never say that if Kratos asked. He'd say that he was proud of him for going out there, for trying, but Kratos knew him too well to know that that was all)_.

Suddenly, there's a loud whooping that Kratos can hear over the sudden din that seemed to hit him like a wall of sound. He looks around, a little disoriented and Yuan is beside him, grinning wide. "You won, Kratos! You won!"

For a brief moment, Kratos forgets about his father.

* * *

His father claps a strong hand on Kratos' shoulder, congratulating him after he goes to accept his award. Kratos had been in a total of four fights, only losing his last one, and earning himself second place. Kratos beams, holding onto the small, silver trophy, and his father's hand stays on his shoulder as he leads him to the mess hall, where there would be an enormous celebratory party for all the winners. 

_(He didn't catch his teacher's satisfied look when he won, didn't see the way his jaw clenched a little at the sight of his father)_

* * *

 

"He won. Your human won."

Yuan looks up at Alina and can't stop the proud grin from coming to his face. He nearly hadn't recognized Kratos in the swordsman that had been out on that field. "Yeah, he did."

"His party's still going." The winners are thrown a celebratory party, much to the disappointment of most of the half-elves. After all, they'd be the ones cleaning it up.

"What's your point?"

"He seemed to forget about you real quick."

Before Yuan can say anything, he hears someone calling his name. Automatically, instinctively, he turns, but not because of his name, but because of the voice. Kratos is jogging across yard to armory, where they had been set to clean and polish the weapons that the upperclassman would be working with the next day.

The thrill of the victory is still on Kratos' face in the slight flush of his cheeks, and the way that his lips seem stuck in a smile. "Hey, I only just managed to get away. But I was able to get some food too," Kratos says, showing them a napkin-covered plate. He turns to Alina. "Hi. You're…Alina, right? Is this Alina?" he asks Yuan.

"Yeah, this is Alina. 'Lina, this is Kratos."

"Nice to meet you," she says, feeling distinctly uncomfortable because no human has ever really noticed her, and none of them have ever been so polite to her. _(And he'd said her name so familiarly. Did Yuan talk about her to him? What had he told him?)_

"Would you like some?" Kratos asks, holding out the plate. There are sweetmeats and desserts piled on there, along with a few little circular things that Alina isn't sure what they are. When she asks, Kratos shrugs. "Dunno. I heard someone call them 'quiche' or something like that."

Yuan snorts as he breaks off a piece of some kind of cake. "That's a stupid-sounding word, quiche."

Alina giggles despite herself. "Yeah, it is."

Yuan-and-Kratos looks at her. "We were serious about you being able to have some y'know. We can't eat all of this—"

"Well, we _can_ —" Yuan amends.

"We'd only get sick again," Kratos reminds him.

Yuan smiles at the wonderful memory. "It was totally worth it though."

Alina tentatively takes a cookie, half-expecting the human to snatch the plate back, before nibbling on it. "T-thank you."

They end up sitting against the wall, laughing at shared stories and childish arguments and, under the gentle watchfulness of the stars, they can enjoy being children, being young, for such things are not commonly allowed in a war. This time is theirs, only theirs, and there is nowhere that they would rather be.

 


	17. Shared Joy

 

_Shared joy is a double joy; shared sorrow is half a sorrow.  
-Swedish Proverb_

* * *

 

Yuan knows he has to sneak inside when he hears that General Aurion is on school grounds for the end of term awards. Alina has only had to see the look on his face before she sighs and says, "Just go. I'll cover for you." His responding flash of a grin is heartstopping.

She doesn't understand Yuan and Master Aurion's strange friendship. It's impossible, by all logical reasoning. Even taking into account contradictory personalities—Yuan is bright and impulsive; hot-tempered and stubborn as a mule. Master Aurion _(Kratos, he'd insisted. Said that he hated being called Master)_ is quiet and shy; intelligent and tentatively friendly, as though he isn't sure just how to _be_ friends with people—they don't fit together because they're human and half-elf. Master and slave, and yet she's seen them laugh and sit together, trading quicksilver grins and jokes that no one else understands, could possibly understand because they have their own small world.

The mess hall is doubling as an assembly hall, and it's a simple matter for Yuan to sneak in. No one sees half-elves. Not unless they needed someone to blame, someone to hit. He finds a spot near the door to the kitchen, and he watches as Sandor Aurion talks to the students—troops, he calls them. Little soldiers and it makes Yuan's stomach twist and roil because he's seen what the soldiers do, knows their cruelty, and he doesn't want to imagine Kratos ever being able to do things like that.

Even if Yuan hates the man, the general is impressive. Kratos' father speaks with authority, with subtle, powerful confidence, and Yuan wonders if Kratos can ever become like that. If Kratos can ever stand tall like that, and not be afraid of all the eyes upon him, of what could happen if something goes wrong.

Yuan wonders if _he_ can ever be that confident. That grown-up.

He hasn't heard more than a few snatches of what General Aurion is saying, having been focused more on the cadence, on his bearing, than his words, but then he hears, "…My son, Kratos…"and Kratos is stepping up there, each step careful, and Yuan knows that he is being very careful not to do something stupid like trip or stumble. _(Yuan knew that they would have been able to laugh about it later, out in the fields or under the shared blanket, but Kratos didn't think in future tenses, but in fathers and approval and mistakes)_

Kratos ducks his head as his father reads off that he is being given the awards for winning his class competition, and for having the highest marks in his academic subjects. _(The last one made Yuan's mouth go sour because he knew that, if it hadn't been for the former, the general wouldn't have sounded quite so proud)_

Yuan is waiting for Kratos when he comes into their room. The half-elf is lying back on the bed, hands beneath his head, eyes on the ceiling.

"Did you hear?" Kratos asks and he sounds excited like he hadn't ever since he'd come to Yuan, shaking his shoulders, because he could use a sword.

Yuan sits up, smiling even though he wishes that Kratos could enjoy this moment for him rather than for his father. "Yeah. I actually got to see the ceremony."

"Seriously? How'd you manage that?"

Later, the thought will strike Yuan that, if they were older, if they were not still children, Kratos would have been more concerned with his getting caught, with their secret being discovered, but they are children, and to them, they are invincible and secrets are safe.

"Alina covered for me. I wouldn't be a very good best friend if I missed this, now would I?"

Kratos grins. It's wide and brilliant and untouched by Sandor Aurion. "No…I think you'd still qualify."

They spend the rest of the night talking, and playing card games that Zaren had showed Yuan how to play in another life. It's nothing terribly important that they talk about—rumors and schoolwide gossip. Yuan can confirm that, yes, Daryl does sleep with a stuffed animal. It's a beaver and he'd tried to get some slaves to wash it discreetly last week—but they're things that seem as large as the sky.

"So what happens now?" Yuan asks. "The school year's over, right?"

"Yeah, it is. It's two weeks of summer break and then we're back here."

Yuan's eyes meet Kratos' red-tinted ones over his hand of cards. "That means we have to go back to your house, right?"

"Yeah. They don't let students stay here for the summer."

Yuan knows that, if it hadn't been for his father's words, finally acknowledging his quiet, bookish offspring _(…My son, Kratos…)_ then Kratos wouldn't be so happy about going back.

* * *

 


	18. Fruit and Numbers

 

_Summer is the time when one sheds one's tensions with one's clothes, and the right kind of day is jeweled balm for the battered spirit. A few of those days and you can become drunk with the belief that all's right with the world.  
~Ada Louise Huxtable_

* * *

 

Those two weeks of summer are written in fruits. Pineapples from the far south that are sweet and slightly tangy on their tongue; shared berries in a bowl as they take turns reading to each other. Apples when they attempt to juggle one rainy afternoon when there is little else to do. Persimmons as they watch the sun go down, the juice running sticky between their fingers and on their chins. Bananas that are split in half and shared after they race each other to town one morning. Grapes that are tossed in the air and are—attempted—to be caught in their mouths. Kiwis that are sour-sweet and make their tongues tingle even as they point out constellations and comets in the sky.

Kratos turns thirteen the day before they're set to return. They celebrate by stealing away down to the river just outside of town. They splash and race each other in the cool water, climbing trees—Yuan always beats Kratos to the top—and jumping in. Today is _theirs_ and no one else's.

Yuan tosses Kratos a pomegranate that they'd gotten from the kitchen that morning before lying beside him on a sun-warmed boulder. "So…how's it feel to be a teenager?"

Kratos bites into the pomegranate, the red juice filling his mouth with sudden sweetness. "…I don't feel any different, actually. The same as I was yesterday."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhm."

"Why'dya suppose everyone makes such a fuss of turnin' thirteen then?" Yuan plays with a seed. The smell of the pomegranates still reminds him powerfully of home. _(It's powerful enough that his chest_ ached _with the feeling, but after today, he would be able to associate pomegranates with Kratos, and a sunlit day when it was just them as they were supposed to be, just Kratos-and-Yuan.)_

"No idea."

"…You ever think that every year we get older, we're still all the years before it too?"

Kratos stares at him as though he's grown another head. "What?"

"Well, like…" Yuan props himself up on one elbow. "You're thirteen. But maybe you're also twelve and eleven and ten, all the way down to one year old. 'Cause sometimes, you don't feel as old as you actually are, right?"

"I guess not."

"Like, when you hear something at night and you get a little scared—not that I do, mind you—maybe it's because you're still six somewhere and that six year old is still scared of the dark."

"You're a freak," Kratos snorts, but with the easy gruffness that was allowed only between close friends.

Yuan pokes his tongue out, feeling very much like seven and not twelve at all. But he likes being twelve because twelve means having Kratos for a best friend and Yuan finds himself hard pressed to find something better than that.


	19. Chapter 19

* * *

 

_Remember when you thought boys had cooties. When friends were new, dreams were un-shattered and worries few. When recess was too short and life was too long. Decisions came easily without need to belong. When storks delivered the babies and passions weren't so strong, friendships were un-broken. Right was right, and wrong was wrong. When bad things didn't happen, when only skinned knees brought tears and the night light in it's socket quieted all our fears. When farewell meant just for summer and real friends didn't part, the fun went on forever and never left a broken heart._

_-Anonymous_

* * *

 

This time, Kratos gets to take Noishe with them when they go back to military school. Yuan is currently holding the bowl in his hands, inspecting the fish with a dubious eye.

"You sure he's a normal fish?" he asks, poking at the glass. The slick silver-green fish doesn't swim away like others do. He swims right up to the glass, watching Yuan with unblinking eyes.

"My father said that he's called a proto—a protozoan," Kratos stumbles over the word, eventually having to say it in small pieces to get it right.

"A _what?_ "

Kratos repeats it more slowly. "I did some research. Apparently, they live a real long time and they evolve every so often."

"Evolve? Like how some of the human scientists think that people came from monkeys?" Yuan has read through Kratos' textbooks on more than one occasion, particularly on study nights. He finds the lessons there very different than the things that the old men said and taught back in his home village.

"Yeah, like that. They say that a protozoan goes through like five evolutions in its life and their final evolution is into a person who can become a hero to protect the world."

"Sounds like an adventure book. What're the other evolutions?"

"Well, apparently, they start off as a kind of bacteria. Then they become a fish, then a bird, a wolf-dog thing and then a person."

"So…you're tellin' me that this here fish," Yuan holds up the bowl to demonstrate. "Is gonna become a bird?"

"Yeah."

"That's one thing that I'm going to have to see before I believe it. No offense, Noishe," he adds hurriedly.

"I thought that half-elves were good at believing in things they couldn't see?" It isn't mean or spiteful when Kratos says it. It's simply curious.

Yuan grins at him. "Well, after spending so much time with you, I don't think I'm a very good half-elf anymore."

And the fact that Yuan could say it like it's a good thing says more to Kratos about him than anything else that had happened in the past two years.

* * *

 

He isn't sure when it happened. Perhaps it happened slowly, or it happened overnight, but there is a morning when Kratos dashes into the room, his hair still wet from the shower, calling Yuan.

Yuan had the afternoon shift today, so he's using his time wisely by sleeping in. And he tries to ignore Kratos, he really does, but against his will, his body turns itself over. and his eyes crack open to look at his best friend. "Whazgoin' on?"

"Yuan, look!"

Dutifully, Yuan follows Kratos' fingers to where they're pointing downwards at…his shoes? His pants? "What am I supposed to be looking at?"

"Look at the pant hems, Yuan," Kratos says patiently. He knows that Yuan is generally a morning person, but a week of midnight shifts has him beat.

"They're too short. So what?" Kratos waits for Yuan's brain to get it. And he sees the moment it happens because Yuan's eyes go wide, suddenly very much alert and awake as he flings the blankets back, studying Kratos like he's never seen him before. "You're taller," he says accusingly.

"Yup." Kratos throws his shoulders back proudly, inclining his chin.

Yuan circles him, still studying. "And when did that happen?"

Kratos laughs, a loud, joyous sound. "As if I know? I just noticed it today."

Finally, Yuan stops, standing up straight in front of him, measuring the difference in height between them. Where, after this summer with his growth spurts, Yuan had been a good eight inches taller than him, the gap had shrunk to four inches. He tilts his head, slanted eyes narrowed.

"Something about your face changed."

"What?"

Yuan tugs Kratos over to the mirror hanging on the back of the door. "There. Can't you see it?"

Kratos glances between Yuan and his reflection, unable to find anything different. "No, I don't. Point to it."

"It's not something specific. It's just…different."

Kratos doesn't entirely believe him—he sees his own face every day. If something had changed, wouldn't he have noticed it by now?—but he doesn't argue anymore because Yuan seems so sure.

"Hey, Kratos, you know what this means?" Kratos looks at him questioningly. "Means you need a new uniform." A larger one, one closer to the one his father had originally given him, the one gathering dust in the bottom of Kratos' trunk.

* * *

 

The first time it happens, Kratos is very confused, but he lets it go as a one time occurrence. But it keeps happening.

"They keep staring at me. And giggling and whispering," Kratos says to Yuan one night over some dinner they had swiped from the kitchens. It isn't real dinner. Just a few bread rolls and strips of meat, but it's enough to whet their appetites.

As second year students, they're allowed to leave the school twice a month to go to the village nearby. As Yuan is technically Kratos' personal slave, he comes along as well.

"Who?"

"The girls. Haven't you seen them?"

"I have, but I didn't think anything of it." Yuan takes another bite of bread, swallowing before asking, "Why?"

"It's _weird_."

"You think so?"

Kratos stares at him. "Why aren't you more creeped out by this?"

Yuan shrugs. Perhaps it's because he'd grown up with women doing that all the time. Not about him, of course. The whispers had all been about Dehua and Kail, looking oh so handsome. There had been no giggling, but girls are strange. What can Yuan say?

"I can ask Alina. She's a girl. Maybe she can explain it."

"Hopefully."

* * *

 

Alina hugs him when she sees him for the first time since the previous school year. Yuan freezes automatically because not many people hugged him, but he relaxes the next moment into the embrace.

They have different duties this year, and she studies him as he must have studied Kratos. His hair had grown out over the summer, his skin is browner. and he looks leaner, his shoulders broader. But there is still something offsetting about the chubbiness that remains in his cheeks, and the arms and legs that seem too long for his body.

They're on kitchen duty today, as Alina is covering for someone who's sick, scrubbing pots and pans, and making sure that tonight's leftovers don't go bad.

"Can I ask you something?"

"'Course ya can."

"Kratos has been talking about a lot of girls staring at him and giggling. What's that mean?" Alina stares at him. "What?"

"You really don't know?"

"Should I?"

Alina shakes her head. "You're hopeless."

"What? What is it?"

"It means they like you."

"In what way?" he asks shrewdly.

Well, he's at least smart enough to know there is a distinction there. "Romantically."

"You're joking. Kratos?"

Alina chuckles. "'S not so crazy."

Yuan's look is disbelieving. "It kind of is."

"Why?" She may not like him in that way, but she'd seen the changes that Kratos' had undergone over the summer as well. The extra height, and longer limbs give him an endearing kind of awkward handsomeness.

"It's _Kratos._ " As if that explains it all. Perhaps to Yuan, it does.

* * *

 

When Yuan explains it to him, Kratos just blinks at him, waiting for the punchline. When it doesn't come, he says, "Seriously?"

" _Mm_ hm."

"But it's me."

"That's what _I_ said."

"I don't get it."

"Neither do I."

A pause before they both say at the same time, "Girls are _weird_."


	20. Chapter 20

_A boy becomes an adult three years before his parents think he does, and about two years after he thinks he does.  
~Lewis B. Hershey, News summaries, 31 December 1951_

* * *

 

"Maybe I'll grow more this year and I'll be taller than you," Kratos says conversationally one morning.

"Maybe," Yuan agrees. "And maybe it rains gummy candies."

"What?" Kratos looks over his shoulder at Yuan, who is sprawled out on the bed, watching Kratos try and fiddle with the uniform to make it fit properly. They had said that it would take about a week for a new uniform to be made and, until then, Kratos had to go through inspection with the too-short pants and a shirt that's starting to get a little too small.

"It's from an old song that kids sing. You've never heard it?"

Kratos shakes his head. "Not that I can think of. What was it about?"

"What it sounds like. It's a little song that we used to sing when it rained, that instead of water, it would rain gummy candies."

Kratos laughs, not unkindly. "Who taught you it?"

"My mama." It had been on one of her good days, which had also been rainy. Yuan remembers sulking because he hadn't wanted to be stuck inside on one of Mama's few good days. Mama had shaken her head and taken his hand. _"(It's just rain," she'd said. "We won't melt if we walk in it. There's a song I used to sing as a little girl when it rained. Do you want to hear it?")_

"But I've never even heard of gummy candies."

Yuan sits up on his elbows and stared at him. "You've never had a gummy candy?" Kratos shakes his head. "Do you know what gum is?" Kratos shakes his head again. "Yeah, and _I_ have a lot to learn. Gum is this chewy, sticky candy that they get from this one tree's sap. You're not supposed to swallow it, but it tastes good sometimes and it's fun to blow bubbles with it. Gummy candies are made from the same tree, but you can swallow them and they're usually a lot sweeter, even if sometimes they do stick right here," Yuan opens his mouth and pokes the roof of his mouth with his tongue to demonstrate. "A lot."

"Yeah? That sounds really tasty. We don't have any candies like that."

"Maybe it's 'cause the trees don't grow in human lands."

Kratos sets the uniform down and sits cross-legged by Yuan's feet. "Now that I think about it, what _is_ your favorite candy?"

"I haven't tried a lot of them. Gummy ones were mostly what we could afford, but every year, right at the beginning of spring when there's still some frost on the roof, there'd be people selling sweet ice. That's my favorite."

"Sweet ice? Like ice cream?" They'd stolen away into the kitchens over the summer more than once to have ice cream sitting on the step to the back door. Yuan had been amazed that they could keep ice cold enough that it wouldn't melt through the summer.

"No way. They're actually really different. Sweet ice is exactly what it sounds like. They get some of the syrup that they made over the winter from the summer harvest and they pour it over ice that they put in a little bowl about…this big." Yuan holds his fingers about five inches apart. "Then they give you this little wooden spoon—it's hard to hold 'cause it's so small—and you eat it just like that."

"They have different flavors?"

"Oh yeah. There's sweet plum, cherry, sometimes some wild berries. We grew lots of pomegranates in my village, so there was pomegranate in like everything—even in stew! One time, I swear, our neighbor made this pomegranate and rabbit stew! It had some pumpkins and some beans in it too!"

Kratos' nose wrinkles. "That sounds gross."

Yuan shrugs. "It wasn't too bad. I've definitely tasted worse."

Kratos leans back until he's lying down on the bed side by side with Yuan, who has to scoot over to make more room. They lay in comfortable silence for long minutes, watching shadows play out across the ceiling, and listening to the cicadas outside the open window.

"…When's your birthday?"

Yuan had dozed off. Kratos pokes him in the shoulder, and the half-elf came back to wakefulness with a snort. "What?"

"When's your birthday?" Kratos repeats.

"Sometime in the winter. Why?"

"Because we never celebrated it."

Yuan turns his head to look at him. "Did you want to?"

"Don't you?"

"We never really did much for birthdays. It's always cold or snowy on my birthday, so it's not like we could really leave the house and Mama…well." Yuan has never told Kratos about Mama, about her bad days and good days, about the way that, sometimes, she'd look at him and see Dehua or Kail. _("I'm Yuan, Mama," he'd say. "Oh. Of course." She'd look sad after that, so he'd stopped correcting her)_

"We can't let your birthday be uncelebrated."

"It's not that big a deal, really."

"It is to me." The slightly baffled expression on Yuan's face tells Kratos that his friend doesn't understand, but that he isn't going to argue anymore. "What's today?"

"Tuesday."

Kratos rolls his eyes. "The number."

"Um…The fourth of August?"

"Today can be your new birthday. Unless you remember the other one." Yuan shakes his head, using a short breath to blow his bangs out of his face. "Then happy birthday, Yuan. You're officially a teenager."

Yuan grins. The words feel like there should be a flash of…something…to go with them, but, as Kratos had said, he doesn't feel any different. "You know what I wanna do tonight?"

"What?"

"Well, you know the bell tower…"

* * *

 

"I'd expected more from the both of you. That was irresponsible and…"

Kratos and Yuan are tuning out the rest of the blistering lecture that they're sure that the old man has rehearsed. Kratos has a broken arm, and Yuan is cut and bruised along his face and arms. Then again, planning to climb the bell tower in the middle of the night just to stand at the top had probably not been the best idea to avoid all that.

"It was totally worth it," Yuan murmurs.

"Speak for yourself," Kratos mutters in reply. His cast itches.

"Boys." Both of them wince at the sharp tone. "I want an honest answer from both of you. What _possessed_ you to climb the bell tower?"

Kratos and Yuan glance at each other. Yuan is the first to speak. "I wanted to see the horizon again."

The old man, still riding his temper, is about to tell the boy that it is perfectly possible to see the horizon with both feet safely on the ground before he remembers that Yuan is what he is: a boy. And, while it has been a century or two, he can remember what it was to be a boy, to climb and hike and swim and challenge the world with youthful arrogance.

So he can understand, if only vaguely, for Yuan is not a normal youth by any means with intelligence and curiosity and potential in bucket loads, why Yuan did it. It's Kratos that he can't understand. The human boy usually has more sense than that.

"And you, boyo?"

Kratos shifts uncomfortably. "I don't know."

No, the old man thinks as he looks at the way the boys are standing, he knows. The boys might not be aware of it just yet, but the old man knows –and-someone's when he sees them. His own brother had been an –and-someone once. They'd already chosen who they were going to follow, and that was each other and no one else.

"I suppose you don't want to tell me what was going through your heads when you decided to not have a safety measure just in case you fell?" This was mostly directed at Kratos because he's the one that actually fell. Yuan had sort of thrown himself off after him, landing himself in the trees where Kratos had hit the ground after the trees slowed him down.

"We...didn't think about it at the time?" Kratos suggests.

"It _was_ kind of spur-of-the-moment," Yuan adds.

The old man has to fight to keep his temper on the leash. They're boys and boys would be boys. Impulsiveness is the nature of boys and perhaps it is better that they are doing this sort of thing now rather than later, when they might not have each other to catch them.

* * *

 

"That was kind of amazing," Kratos says that night. They're both lying on their backs, watching the ceiling and lying on top of the sheets because it was far too hot for blankets.

"What?"

"Being up so high…it was like I could see the whole world unfolding in front of me."

Yuan rolls over onto his stomach, resting his head on folded arms, wincing a little as he puts pressure on some bruises. "You've never been that high?"

Kratos shakes his head and Yuan wonders how that's possible. Most of his childhood had been spent in the pomegranate trees of his home. He used to look out at the fields, trying to find his brother's flock. He used to watch the sky until he had been lulled to sleep in the branches, used to look down on his village, and sometimes he would pretend that he was something of a guardian angel, fighting invisible enemies.

"It was…a once in a lifetime experience."

"Only if you want it to be. I'll do it again with you if you want," Yuan offers.

Kratos laughs, nervousness coloring the edges. "I think once was enough."

Yuan is quiet for a long time before he asks, "Have I ever told you that I want to fly?"

"Fly?" Kratos repeats.

"Yeah. Like a bird? Fly."

"Why would…?"

This is one thing that Kratos doesn't understand, empathetic as he is, as he has the potential to be. He is as human as they come, a creature of the earth—solid, uncomfortable away from it. Yuan can remember the old men in his village, can remember that, when they would see him coming down from one of the trees, they would sometimes tell him that he truly was an elven child, even if only a little, because elven blood remembered the sky from when the elves came on Derris-Kharlan.

Or so they said. Yuan isn't entirely convinced. He likes to be so high up because the air is so much… _more_ up there.

"Think about it," Yuan says. "No restrictions, no one grounding you…it would be the most amazing in the world."

"You can fly on your own. I'll cheer you on from on the ground."

"Relax, Kratos. One day, we'll be flying and, I promise you, if you fall, I'll catch you. You're like a cold."

"That makes no sense."

"You catch a cold."

Kratos snorts in laughter, shoving playfully at him. "Go to sleep, Yuan."

"You're lucky you've got a broken arm," Yuan grumbles, burying his face in the pillow. "Elsewise, I'd be pushing you out of the bed. Or kicking you. I'm not picky."


	21. Forever Kids

_Adolescents are not monsters. They are just people trying to learn how to make it among the adults in the world, who are probably not so sure themselves._

_-Virginia Satir, **The New Peoplemaking,** 1988_

* * *

 

Their window is open, letting the chilly night breezes of autumn whisper in. Yuan is on his stomach, reading one of Kratos' textbooks. It's how they stay on par with each other and Kratos envied how easily Yuan grasped the concepts of math and abstract numbers when Kratos had been the one to teach him his numbers in the first place.

"Hey, Yuan?" the half-elf grunted in acknowledgment of the human sitting at the desk doing his homework. "Do you—I mean…"

Yuan looks over at him, eyes trained on the back of Kratos' skull. There are very few things that they aren't willing to talk about with each other. If Kratos is hesitating, that meant it's serious. "What is it?"

"Do you sometimes feel like…you don't want to be a kid anymore? Like you just want to get away from here where you won't have to listen to anyone?" Those kinds of thoughts have been entering Kratos' mind more and more as he grows older, and he wonders if it's just him, if anyone else feels the same.

Yuan sits up, crossing his legs. "All the time."

"Yeah, but..." Kratos sighs, not looking over, but shifting in his chair, absently watching Noishe swim around in his bowl. "D'you ever, at the same time, wish that you could stay a kid forever and not have to worry about grown-up things? I mean, doesn't not knowing the future ever make you afraid? Like you won't be able to handle it and then there's no way back to times like these?"

Yuan hums in thought, wrapping his arms around his knees. "…I can't say I've thought about it a lot. Being a kid, for me, before I met you, was…well…it wasn't _bad_ , but I don't think I'd ever want to do it forever. It would be great to have control of my own life."

"So you don't ever want to be a kid forever?"

"You didn't let me finish. That was before I met you. I think that—if you stayed a kid too—I'd do it. Forever can't be all bad with you there, know what I mean?"

Kratos looks over at him, a smile on his face. "Yeah, I know what you mean."


	22. Chapter 22

 

_Arithmetic is where numbers fly like pigeons in and out of your head._

_~Carl Sandburg, "Arithmetic"_

* * *

 

"Hey, Aurion!"

Kratos barely manages to not flinch at the name. He's still not accustomed to people calling him that and, since the voice was clearly a student calling him, it only makes him more nervous. None of the other students wanted much to do with him at all, ever.

When he turns towards the voice, he sees one of the larger boys in his class, Abernac. Kratos' list of things that he knows about the boy are as follows: He's huge, has some smarts in military strategy, but not much more than the average, he's failing arithmetic and his preferred weapon is an ax.

"Yes?"

Abernac narrows his eyes at the much smaller boy. "You're good at math, right?"

Kratos blinks at him in surprise. This is not where he'd thought the conversation was going to go. "Um, yes. I'm decent at it, at least."

"I need your help."

"With…math?"

"Yeah. I can't become a soldier if I don't."

Kratos looks at Abernac, really looks at him. He can't understand why anyone would _want_ to become a soldier. He thinks about it, really considering it. Abernac isn't one of the boys who'd made fun of him in the physical exercises last year because he'd been the smallest. He hadn't stood up for him, but he hadn't participated either.

"If you really want, I could pay you," Abernac offers. "My father gives me an allowance every week. I'll give you fifteen gald off of it each week if you tutor me."

Fifteen gald. That's a lot to a thirteen year old with no other way of income. Kratos' father used to give him a monthly allowance of ten gald, but somewhere along the way, it had just stopped. Now, the only money Kratos gets is during Celsius Week from the well-wishers that he doesn't know.

"Yeah, sure. I'll help." Kratos racks his brain. Yuan usually doesn't get into their room until well past dinner, but during the weekdays, he got in later than on the weekends. "How about Thursday night? That way, when I help you learn, you'll be all set for the weekly exam."

Abernac smiles in relief. "Yeah, sure. Thanks so much. You're alright, Aurion."

* * *

 

"You're tutoring someone in math?" Yuan repeats over his supper.

The food given to the half-elves are the leftovers of the leftovers and, if there are no more of those, they're given half a loaf of bread and a few slices of cheese. Kratos has gotten very good at smuggling food under his uniform back to the room for his best friend.

"Yes."

"And that someone is Abernac?"

"Yes."

Yuan looks at Kratos. "You are aware that you have to ask me for help half the time when you're doing your homework, right?"

Kratos flings a pillow at him. Yuan ducks, grinning broadly before going back to his meal.

 


	23. Teaching and Learning

_The object of teaching a child is to enable him to get along without his teacher._

_~Elbert Hubbard_

* * *

 

Aurion is a good teacher, Abernac decides. He explains things thoroughly and doesn't mind repeating himself when Abernac has a problem understanding. He doesn't get impatient or frustrated the way that the teachers do when something in Abernac's head doesn't seem to want to understand what's in front of him.

"What do I do here?" Abernac had begun the problem, and it had been going alright until now.

Aurion studies his handwriting, which is a little less than legible, so Abernac decides to give Aurion a few extra points in the patience department. "Now, you have to distribute the six."

Abernac frowns and starts to tentatively work out the problem. When he's finished, or rather, when it looks finished to him, he looks up at Aurion for confirmation. Aurion smiles. "You got it."

"Really?"

"Really."

Abernac grins. "You're a lifesaver, Aurion."

* * *

 

It had been about a month and a half since the tutoring began. Abernac finds that he's actually sort of able to keep up with the class. When Abernac goes to Aurion's room that Thursday, he's surprised to see a huddle of blankets on the ground.

"Wha-" The blankets shift and Abernac catches sight of blue hair and pointed ears. "That your slave, Aurion?"

He doesn't see the way that Aurion's hands clench and the temper that flashes in his eyes. "…Uh, yeah. He's sick today, so…"

"And you're lettin' him stay in here with you?"

Abernac doesn't see the falseness in Aurion's smile. "To be honest, I hardly ever notice he's there."

_(After Abernac left, Kratos went to sit beside Yuan, who he knew wasn't asleep. "Hey, come on. You need a real bed."_

_Yuan looked like hell, his eyes bloodshot and tired, his skin sickly pale. "I hafta move?"_

_"You'll feel better for it, trust me. C'mon." He helped Yuan up and let him have most of the blankets, even if winter's bite was beginning to make itself known. He ran a hand through Yuan's hair and told him  that he was going to go down and see if he could get some soup from the kitchens. Alina might be able to help him in that department._

_Kratos did manage to get some soup, but when he came back, Yuan was asleep for the first time since he'd gotten sick, so he set the soup on the desk before getting under his own blanket, able to feel Yuan's fever-hot skin pressed against his back. He'd get Yuan to eat the soup in the morning, even if it would be cold and slightly congealed at the edges of the bowl)_

* * *

 

It's the last day of the weekend before Celsius Week. It's the one week that they have off that they have to stay at the school. Abernac digs through his pockets and counts out the weekly gald that he owes Aurion.

"Fifteen gald," Abernac said, dropping the money into Kratos' hand.

"Thanks, Abernac."

"Hey, Aurion, have a good Celsius Week, in case I don't see you."

Aurion blinks at him in surprise. "Um, sure. You too."

Abernac doesn't see the half-elf that slides up beside Aurion as soon as he turns his back to walk away, doesn't see the familiar whisperings, and quicksilver smiles, and the concerned hand on the half-elf's forehead that he bats away with gentle irritability.

_("So how much you got saved up now?" Yuan asked._

_Kratos did the math quickly in his head. "'Bout a hundred and sixty-five."_

_Yuan whistled low. "What're you gonna do with all that money?"_

_"You mean_ we _. And I figure that we can go down to the village. There's a bakery there and I think they have cinnamon buns."_

_Yuan grinned wide. "Sounds good."_

_"I thought so." Kratos' hand came up to feel Yuan's forehead. He still wasn't convinced that the half-elf was feeling as good as he said he was. "You sure you're feeling okay?"_

_Yuan batted his hand away. "I'm_ fine _, Kratos, seriously. C'mon, let's go outside. Didn't you hear? It's_ snowing!")


	24. Future

 

_I know not what the future holds, but I know who holds the future._

_~Author Unknown_

* * *

 

"Aurion!"

Kratos turns, and Yuan automatically goes to mimic him, but remembers himself quickly enough to make it look like a nervous twitch. They're in the halls, Yuan carrying Kratos' textbooks—and they are _heavy_. Who knew knowledge weighed that much?—and it's nearly the end of the school day as well as the end of spring.

"Yes?" Yuan wonders if Kratos will ever lose those manners of his.

"Did you hear the news?" Abernac asks. "Your old man's supposed to be coming."

"My father?" Kratos repeats blankly.

"Yeah. They say he has an announcement to make on Friday at dinner." Abernac glances around before lowering his voice. "Rumor is that they've succeeded in breaking the half-breeds' borders. Maybe they've even caught a general or something!"

Kratos tries to smile, but he's sure it comes out more as a grimace. "Yeah, wouldn't that be awesome?"

"Seriously!" A bell rings shrilly. "I need to go. Literature class. As if I'm ever going to need that."

Kratos and Yuan glance at each other, not daring to say anything with the halls still swarming with students trying to race to get to their next class. This can't bode well.

* * *

 

"Why would my father be here?"

"Maybe it's like Abernac said." Yuan watches Kratos pace the practice field, late in the night. They'd sparred a little, but had quickly given up because they were both too distracted. They haven't seen the old man in nearly a month. "It's probably something to do with the war."

"But if it is—and they have captured a general of yours or something—how…" Kratos doesn't finish—or can't. Yuan isn't sure—but Yuan gets the message.

How, after all these years, would Kratos face what he had always instinctively known, but refused to accept, about his father? About the war?

"It could be something else too. Something to have to do with the school," Yuan suggests a little half-heartedly.

Kratos gives him a look of disbelief and Yuan hates it. If this is being thirteen—all of this uncertainty and change and growing up—he wants no part of it. He prefers being twelve and seven and every year in between.

* * *

 

Sandor Aurion is no less imposing than the last time that Yuan had seen him. He's standing far in the back of the dining hall, Kratos at the nearest table, both of them focused on him.

"I'm sure you all have heard about our success on the borderlands," Sandor begins. He isn't yelling, but his voice resonates just the same, carrying across the room with ease. "The half-breeds are being pushed back even as we speak."

There are cheers around the room and Kratos feels sick.

Sandor quiets the room with a raised hand. "But the half-breeds are many and they know their home terrain. We've lost many men to them."

"But we're still winning, right?" someone calls out.

"Naturally. The half-breeds don't stand a chance. They never did." Kratos can hear Yuan gritting his teeth from where he's sitting, can imagine the clenched fists and bright sparks of fury in his eyes. "But nonetheless, they are putting up quite the fight. Which is why I come here to tell you that, as of next Thursday, drafts are being issued."

"But weren't they already issued?" someone asks.

"Yes, they were. But these drafts are for schools." Kratos' churning insides freeze. "School-age children—fifteen and older—are going to be drafted. Don't be surprised if some of your classmates are sent for. This school is one of the greatest assets our military has. You all are the future. You all determine on who wins this war. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir!" everyone choruses.

"Excellent. You're dismissed."

Kratos turns sickly back to Yuan. Under the cover of the pressing bodies of the other students as they all hurry to get to their rooms, they might have been able to voice their worries to each other. Could say that they suddenly feel terrible and that they want to get far far away from this place and these people.

But sometimes, words simply aren't needed.


	25. Chapter 25

 

_"When you think about it, this is a pretty incredible time. I mean, growing up—that's something you only get to experience once in your life and then it's gone. And in some ways, maybe that's a good thing, but in others…I don't know. Sometimes I want to take these moments that are right on the edge, right on the line in between and bottle them up so I can keep them forever. We'll never be in this place again. It's just a matter of how you're going to go on from here."_

_-Sora **(Boys, by Casey V.)**_

* * *

 

Yuan wakes to the rustling of paper. Automatically, he turns over, waiting to hear the familiar grumbling of Kratos telling him to get back on his own side. When the grumbles don't come, Yuan cracks open his eyes, surprised to see an empty other half of the bed.

"Kratos?"

"'m here."

Yuan lifts himself up onto his elbows, peering at Kratos in the early morning gloom. It would rain today, almost certainly. And that would mean extra kitchen duty, for laundry could not be done on such days. And there would most certainly be more cleaning to be done, what with students tromping inside with muddy boots.

Kratos is sitting at his desk, a thin collection of papers in his hands. Yuan would have said he was reading, but his eyes aren't moving at all, just staring at some point on the page.

"Wha's the news then?" Kratos holds it up so that Yuan can see it. "'Group of humans speaking out against use of 'child soldiers'. General Aurion questioned.'" Yuan frowns at him. "I thought that the general public wasn't supposed to know about the military going-ons."

"They're not. Someone in the human military is a traitor then, because there's no way that a normal group of humans found out about this."

Yuan studies him. It's been a year since Kratos' father had come to the school and made the announcement. Neither of them are stupid—they know that, most likely, in the next school year, that Kratos' draft card will come in because his fifteenth birthday is this summer. Somehow, Kratos has managed not to think about it—or at least, make it not obvious that he's thinking about it—but Yuan knows him too well.

"Did you even go to sleep last night?" Yuan asks, seeing the look in Kratos' eyes and the tiredness that seemed to be weighing him down.

Kratos shakes his head. "I couldn't. I keep thinking about whether these humans are right about what they're saying about my father."

Crawling out of the sheets, Yuan shuffles over to the desk, taking the newspaper from Kratos' hands. After skimming the article, Yuan's eyebrows go up. "Wow, they really don't hold anything back do they? And these're other humans too."

"That's what has me thinking. These aren't the half-elves that he's fighting against saying those things. It's the people that're supposed to be on his side. It makes me wonder if the humans are right at all."

Yuan sits on the edge of the bed, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. "…Don't you have a history class?"

"Yeah."

"Don't they teach you why this war began?"

Kratos shakes his head. "They never mention the war unless something from like, a hundred years ago relates to it. Like, 'this invasion allowed us to gain advantage in this battle of ten years ago.' It's like everyone's trying to pretend that there isn't a war going on out there."

"That sounds a little stupid if you ask me," Yuan says. "I mean, everyone knows about it. It's not a secret."

Kratos looks back at him. "Did they talk about it in your village?"

"The war?" Kratos nods. "Well, yeah. They talked about it a lot." Yuan draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. "They talked about all the people that had been drafted or joined voluntarily, about when they would come back and who they would be marrying and their future children and whatnot. They'd search whatever newspapers we got for their pictures."'

Yuan doesn't tell Kratos about the kitchen walls plastered with photographs and clippings that they cut out, even though no one knew how to read. He isn't sure how to explain the fact that he's never met the boys he's supposed to call his brothers, that he knows them more as storybook characters.

A knock comes at their doors and Yuan immediately scrambles for the floor, grabbing the thin blanket they use mostly for appearances.

Alina's head pokes in the door and she eases herself inside, shutting the door quietly. "Mornin'."

Kratos-and-Yuan blink at her, puzzled. She's never visited them in the dorm room. "Good morning?"

"Came ta get you, Yuan. Cook says you better be in the kitchen in three minutes, elsewise, she'll tan your hide ten different shades of purple."

Yuan winces in reflex. Knowing the cook, she won't have hesitated to go through with her threat. "Lemme get dressed and I'll be right there."

Alina nods and slips back out of the room. Yuan searches for clean clothes—they never have very much time to do their own laundry—while Kratos rereads the article.

"It doesn't make sense."

"What?"

"Why would you bother even trying to cover up something that everyone knows about?"

Yuan shrugs. "Dunno. But it doesn't do any good to worry about it." He ruffles Kratos' hair. "Try and get some sleep today."

"In class?"

"Of course. What else is arithmetic good for anyway?" Kratos finds himself laughing, unable to help it. Yuan grins in triumph.

The laughter fades quickly though. "…What if they're right?"

"Who?"

"The half-elves, these humans," Kratos gestures at the newspaper. "What if they're right about my father?"

Yuan's eyes go to the floor. It has never been a surprise to him that Sandor Aurion is capable of the things that those rebel humans are accusing him of, but, to Kratos, his father is more or less the center of his world. He looks up to him, even if he doesn't want to be just like him. 

"I think you'd have to find a way to deal with it," Yuan says finally. "Find a way to own up and work past it."

Kratos stares at him, perhaps a little uncomprehendingly. "Who told you that?"

Yuan stuffs his hands in his pockets, shuffling his feet a little. "I remember my dad saying that once. Me 'n my brother, Zaren, broke something in the market and we were pretending it wasn't us, y'know? My dad looked at us and said that a boy fights or runs from his problems where a man owns up to his actions."

Kratos hums quietly in thought before he sees the small clock on the desk. "You have a minute and a half to get to the kitchens."

Yuan curses and starts running.


	26. For a Moment

_Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid._

_~Frederick Buechner_

* * *

 

That summer, they feel it. The future is like a weight, hardly there, but at the same time, so heavy. Like a hand on their backs pushing them forward even as they try and keep themselves back.

They race and swim and laugh beneath the cool shade, beneath the powerful sun. Here, in this forest, it's their world and no one else's, and they want to stay there forever because they know that, once they step out of this forest, Time will move forward, dragging them along stubbornly.

Outside of the forest, with its river, and the birds fluttering from tree to tree, and the doe and a half-grown deer watching them curiously before darting back into the trees that they only see once, it's difficult for them to remember that they had ever been master and slave, that they're of two different races.

But they remember when the half-elves in the fields watch them from the corners of their eyes, when they split up in the evenings. They're so accustomed to staying in the same room now that it's strange to sleep alone. Even if Yuan isn't technically alone. He has a top bunk where, if he positions himself right and squints a little, he can see some stars through a gap in the wooden ceiling. He can hear the other half-elves—who he's shared these barracks with since he first arrived—as they snore and toss in their sleep, but it isn't the same. He's become accustomed to Kratos' breathing being near enough that he can hear it, to feeling Kratos shift around in the night.

"Hey, Yuan," someone hisses.

He blinks out of his concentration—the stars are particularly difficult to see today with the clouds—and looks over to see Russell, the boy in the next top bunk. He's thin and tall with very large blue eyes and his dark hair is always in his face. "What is it, Rus?"

"Wha's it like? With that human?"

Yuan almost tells him the truth. All of the truth. Russell has always been one of the other slaves that he likes better. In another life, they might have been very good friends, but Yuan catches himself before he does. No one could know. "'S not so bad."

Russell smiles, a flash of teeth in the darkness. "Yeah?"

"Mm." Yuan hesitates before adding, "Humans aren't all bad, you know. Some of them are actually nice."

Russell snorts. "You must be dreamin', Yuan. Humans don't care 'bout us for nothin'."

He hates hearing those kinds of words. And, somehow, he hates the ones against the humans more than he hates the ones against his own race, his own people. He doesn't understand it, but it's true. Perhaps, he muses, it's because of Kratos. Because Kratos has proven everything he'd ever heard about humans wrong. Sure, most humans don't care about half-elves, but they _can_. 

"What're you doing?" Kratos asks the next morning. Yuan is high in a tree, which isn't so strange really, but it's pouring rain out.

Yuan looks down, sees Kratos soaked, his bangs plastered to his forehead. "You ever climbed a tree to ride out a storm?"

Unsurprisingly, Kratos shakes his head, but he climbs up without another question, his feet slipping a little on the wet bark. Yuan shifts so that there's enough room for the both of them on the branch.

From this high up, they can see the fields—not endless like they had seemed in Yuan's village, but still expansive—and the mountains in the distance, both closer and farther away.

Thunder rumbles and they watch as lightning dances between the clouds, flashing across the sky. With that thunder comes another, lower rumble of hundreds of trees bending in the same powerful wind. From their vantage point, they can see the way that the other trees' branches and leaves rippling like water. Needles rain on them and they laugh as they shake them from their hair and clothes, squirming when one drops through the backs of their collars.

The sound of the rain falling merges with the trees and thunder, creating their own powerful symphony. The water runs down the trunks, cascading down the branches and twisting through hollows.

Kratos smiles at him. "This is incredible!"

Yuan laughs in agreement. Here, they're free, even if only for a moment.


	27. Dreams

 

* * *

_God gives us dreams a size too big so that we can grow in them.  
~Author Unknown_

* * *

 

Now that Kratos—and Yuan, but the teachers don't care about him—is fifteen, he's worked harder than ever. On his fighting skills in particular. Often, he doesn't even get a chance to have dinner. He simply shuffles into their room, mechanically toeing off his muddy shoes and flops onto the bed without a word.

His grades are slipping—or, they had been until Yuan takes over. It isn't difficult for him to recreate Kratos' scrawl on the strategy essays and to make his eights more than a little lopsided and his twos to have a curl rather than a straight edge. Their weekends are often filled with making up whatever work they'd missed—which is a lot when they're so busy.

Yuan knows something is wrong the moment Kratos shuffles into the room, shutting the door with his shoulder. It isn't anything he can see, not really. It's just something about the heaviness in his face and the look in his eyes.

"What happened?"

Kratos glances up, startled. Like he'd forgotten Yuan is there, though it's well after sunset. "You're here."

"I'm always here." Yuan crosses the small room in a few strides. "What happened?"

Kratos subtly shifts his shoulders. "What do you mean?"

"Something's wrong."

Kratos shakes his head. "It's just been a long day."

"Liar." Yuan grabs for Kratos' hand, which has been hiding behind his back since the moment he entered the room. "…Hellsfire, what happened?"

Kratos lets Yuan inspect his bloody hands. "Nothing. They just worked me harder than usual today."

Yuan glares up at him briefly before narrowing his eyes at the open calluses and blisters along Kratos' hands. "When did this open up?"

"'Bout this afternoon."

"And you didn't get this looked at?"

"They wouldn't have let me. You know them."

Yuan rolls his eyes. "Sit. I'm going to get water. Damn hands are probably already infected." He grabs the small bowl and a hand towel before leaving the room. Kratos can imagine him still grumbling as he goes down the hall to the bathroom.

When Yuan returns, he sits cross-legged by Kratos on the bed. Dipping the towel into the warm water, he carefully—and gently, despite the curses still being muttered under his breath—cleans out the sores. Kratos winces at the sting and at the sensation of the rough cloth against sensitive skin, but Yuan holds his hand steady as he works.

"There's no herbs or anything. I know some of the women back home used to put some on cuts and things, but this'll have to do," Yuan says finally when he's done with his verbal bringing down of the military school system and idiot teachers in general. "I managed to swipe some bandages from the infirmary though."

Yuan's hands are clumsy with the bandages, but he's diligent in making sure all of the wounds are covered, none left exposed to the air. 

"…Why didn't you want to tell me about this?" Yuan asks quietly, glancing up at Kratos from beneath his bangs.

Kratos shrugs a little. "Didn't want you to worry. You've had enough on your plate."

"And you haven't?"

Kratos doesn't have a response to that.

"When's the last time you ate?"

"…Breakfast, probably." Kratos waits for the incoming small explosion of mutterings to renew.

"You're an idiot," Yuan tells him flatly. "Why didn't you take an apple or something?"

"Didn't think about it."

There's something about 'humans' and 'useless brains', but Kratos doesn't catch the rest of it. "After this, I'm getting you some leftovers from the kitchens and I'm not gonna let you sleep until you eat it all. Understand?"

Kratos snorts with laughter, though he knows that Yuan's threat is very real. "Yessir."

"...Have they mentioned anything to you?" Yuan asks.

Kratos doesn't need to ask him to elaborate. He knows what he's referring to. "No, they haven't."

They have both seen the students who leave and haven't come back. Occasionally, there are mentions of a letter or two sent to a friend still in school, but for the most part, no one has heard anything from them. There are readings of the newspapers in the morning over breakfast, searching for names and a collective feeling of relief when no one's name is found. None of their names, at any rate.

"The old man's worried about you, you know," Yuan tells him. "He says that you're too good at fighting for them to ignore for long."

"I-I don't want to go. I don't want to fight." Kratos has heard the news, has heard the other students talking casually about what they would do to the enemy _(They're not enemies, Kratos wanted to shout sometimes, but he knew that no one would listen.)_

Yuan stills. "I know. If you're so set against it…we could run."

"Yuan, we've been over this. Where would we go?"

"Wherever the wind takes us. We'll find food when we get hungry and work when we need money."

"You just want to wander around forever?"

"We don't have many options right now, Kratos. Once you're in the war, you're in it. You know that as well as I do. If you desert, then you'd be worse off than we are right now. No half-elf would even think to help you at all."

"So, what, you're saying we run to the half-elven lands? They'll know that I'm not one of them, Yuan!" Kratos reads the thoughts flashing like lightning through Yuan's eyes. "No…it'll never work."

"Yes it could! You can be one of those half-elves who look more like their human parent! My brother was like that! You could barely tell he was a half-elf at all!"

"I can't use magic!"

"Neither can most half-elves! Well, no big magic anyway. Not any that would be useful on a battlefield. It was mostly little spells, like for lighting candles or protecting the sheep."

Kratos stares at his best friend. "You never told me that."

"It never came up."

"I thought all half-elves could do magic."

"I don't think it's a lack of ability. Knowing how to do magic involves being able to read."

Kratos' heart shivers. Knowing that you have the ability to do something so amazing and yet never being able to…that has to be the worst feeling in the world. "So then…where would you learn? To do magic?"

"I dunno. The capital, I guess. I've heard that there are mages there."

Kratos studies his best friend. "…You want to learn magic, don't you?"

Yuan nods a little helplessly. "I-I don't know how to explain it. I can…I can _feel_ it. It's like…it's under my skin and it's…Dammit, this is hard to explain." He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "…You know when you suddenly don't feel like being inside anymore? When you _have_ to go outside to walk around or just get out of the room?"

Kratos nods.

"That's what it feels like, but it never goes away just by going outside."

"…That's where we'll go." Yuan blinks at Kratos in confusion. "When—if—we ever run away from here, we'll go there. To the capital so you can learn magic."

Yuan is looking at him the same way he'd looked at him when Kratos had offered to teach him how to read; with amazement and disbelief. "Are you sure?"

"Of course!" Kratos isn't so sure about the half-elves' welcome of him, but he can't very well let Yuan go alone, now can he?


	28. Chapter 28

_A friend accepts us as we are yet helps us to be what we should.  
~Author Unknown_

__

* * *

 

"You know magic, don't you?"

The boy—no, Kratos isn't really a boy anymore. Then again, he isn't much of a man yet either, stuck in that strange in-between place where his limbs are a little too long and he's tripping over his own feet.

"That's one thing you can't learn, boy. Only those with elven blood can do it."

"I know that. But you can teach Yuan, can't you?"

This kind of daring, of courage that takes away the slouch in his shoulders and makes him tilt his chin defiantly is something that only Yuan seems to be able to coax out of whatever corner inside him it's hiding in. The old man hopes that, one day, Kratos will have this kind of bravery and confidence all the time.

"Why?" He had asked Yuan much the same question once.

"Because, this place," Kratos sweeps his arm in an arc to indicate the school. "It—it's suffocating him. He _needs_ this. I can tell."

He isn't wrong. Yuan is lucky that he's gotten through this school as unscathed as he has, but to someone with his kind of intelligence, with his passion, he needs something more. "…I'll teach him."

Kratos beams.

* * *

 

"I went to talk to the old man today," Kratos says conversationally. They're lying in bed, watching the shadows of the room play along the walls and ceiling. Kratos is lying on his back with his arms crossed behind his head while Yuan is on his stomach, arms folded beneath the pillow, half-drowsy with warmth and sleep.

"Really?"

"Yup. And guess what he told me."

"'S too late for guessing games."

Kratos shrugs. "If you say so."

He counts silently in his head to five and grins when Yuan sits up, legs crossed. "You can't just leave me hanging like that, Kratos! What'd he say?"

"He said he can teach you magic."

Yuan stares at him for long heartbeats with the same expression he'd had when Kratos had first offered to teach him to read; with disbelief and wonder. "…Are you serious?"

Kratos rolls his eyes. "No, Yuan. I said it to mess with you."

Yuan laughs and lays back down. They talk late into the night, watching their dreams form in the darkness hovering above them. Kratos is the first to doze off to sleep, but even as he does, he knows that Yuan is unlikely to sleep tonight with excitement.

 

* * *

 

The late spring rains make for a miserable walk back to the dormitories. By the time Kratos gets back to their room, he's soaked, chilled and sore from training. His legs feel like lead, but his arms no longer shake from so much training. He takes it as a sign of his getting stronger, but that doesn't mean he likes going to bed bone-tired every night.

"What is _that_?" Kratos asks as he closes the door to their room behind him, tugging off his soggy boots and wrinkling his nose at the sodden state of his socks.

Yuan looks up from the thick book on his lap that he had been studying with a single-minded kind of focus that only Yuan can achieve. It's the same focus that had allowed Yuan to learn to read and write so quickly. "The old man gave it to me. Said that magic is a lot of studying."

Kratos tugs off his socks, and changes into dry clothes before sitting beside him, reading curiously over his shoulder. The pages are yellowed, the ink fading. Intricate diagrams and worn sketches decorate the pages. "It's beautiful."

Yuan glances up at him. "You don't even know what you're looking at."

"I don't have to know to think it's beautiful, do I? And besides, it's magic," Kratos says like it explains everything.

Which, to Yuan, it does. "Yeah, yeah it is." Yuan pauses, studying the pages more closely. They feel familiar under his fingertips, though he knows he has never seen such things before in his life. "…These circles, they feel almost _alive_. Does that make sense to you?"

Kratos shakes his head, sending droplets of water in all directions. He apologizes when Yuan swats at him before saying, "No. But then, I can't use magic."

"I wish I could teach you. I think you'd like it."

"Watching you will just have to be enough. Is it easy to understand?"

"The theories are a bit hard, but nothing impossible. The old man said that most magicians never instinctively know magic. That it takes years of studying theory to get more than the basic spells."

"But…?"

Yuan shrugs a little. "Well, I only used it once by accident and it wasn't even very big magic. It was when the humans came to our village. They-they grabbed me and I…I panicked. I shocked the two that had grabbed me."

Kratos stares at him. "Shocked?"

"Yeah. Like with electricity? It wasn't anything too bad, but it made him let go for a few seconds." Yuan keeps his gaze focused on the page before him. He has never told anyone that before.

But Kratos only smiles. "That just means you're a natural! I bet you're gonna be able to do amazing magic one day."

"If I do, you'll be the first to know," Yuan promises.


	29. Chapter 29

* * *

 

_There is no telling how many miles you will have to run while chasing a dream.  
~Author Unknown _

* * *

 

The afternoon is crisp and quiet, the way autumn afternoons are supposed to be. Not like the constant rain that has barraged the grounds for the past three days. Laundry is hanging on lines, and Yuan really hopes that they'll dry before the rain starts up again—as it's bound to because they can never get any good weather this time of year—because otherwise, he'll have to start all this over again.

But until the clothes dry, he has little to do because he can't simply leave them out there. Yuan glances around to see if anyone is around before grabbing a stick and crouching in the still muddy ground. He writes what he cam remember from the book that the old man had given him to study.

Spells and runes trace the circles that dictated the simplest spells. He has yet to be able to summon any magic—the old man had said that that would take practice and that he could help him with that—but Yuan can _feel_ that this is right. Whenever his hands touches one of the circles, something jolts beneath his fingers.

"Yuan?" His hand jerks as he heard his name, whirling around to face the speaker. Alina is watching him warily, a new basket of laundry in her arms. "What're you doing?"

He tries to brush away the evidence of his learning away with his foot, but the mud is stubborn and mostly holds its shape. Alina comes closer, and she stares at the designs and words written in the mud.

"Yuan, you-you know how to read?"

"Of course not," he lies quickly. "I've just cleaned up Kratos' schoolwork so many times that I know what some of it looks like. I was bored and started doodling, so I guess that's where all this came from."

"These don't look like no doodlin's that I've ever seen. These look like you were doing them on purpose."

Yuan can see that there would be no convincing her otherwise. He grabs her by the shoulders. "Fine, I can read. But you can't tell anybody, okay? _Promise me._ "

Alina stares at him, eyes suddenly wide and a little fearful. "That's against the law."

"I know, and if you tell anyone, then I'll be in _huge_ trouble." Yuan doesn't mention how much more trouble Kratos would be in because Alina doesn't know that Kratos os the one who had taught him.

"You're asking me to break the law, Yuan," she hisses. "Do you know what happens to half-elves who do that? They're hung or-or flogged and then they start going after the family. My cousins are here. I can't risk them getting hurt because of me."

"You can't sell me out!"

Alina backs away from him. "I-I don't _want_ to, Yuan, but the humans, they'll find out! They always find out and when they do, my family will be in danger and I can't risk that!"

She turns and runs, dropping the laundry basket, and Yuan is frozen for a bit, unable to believe that this is happening because he and Kratos are supposed to have forever to have their secret. They are never supposed to be found out like this and by the time he manages to unfreeze himself, Alina is out of sight.

Yuan sprints to Kratos' classroom, wondering how the hell he's going to get him out of this. He knocks on the door before entering, head down.

Yuan can feel how much the teacher despises him. It's thick in the air, like grease. "What do you want?"

"The headmaster wants to speak to Master Aurion." The title is heavy on Yuan's tongue and it feels strange. Kratos has never been Master Aurion, never.

The teacher sighs. "Fine. Go, Aurion. And you'll be expected to make up any missing work."

"Yessir." Kratos hurries out after Yuan. As soon as the door closes behind them, Kratos asks, "What's the headmaster want me for?"

"He doesn't." Yuan glances up and down the hallway. "We need to get out of here."

"Get out of here?" Kratos repeats.

"Yeah, we need to get out of this school."

"Why?"

"We've been found out."

Kratos stiffens. "What? How?"

"I'll explain later, but we have to leave. Otherwise, they'll kill me and either lock you up or kill you too."

Kratos nods, and they run for their room to pack quickly. It's as they're running down to the kitchens for something—anything—to take with them that Kratos looks at him and asks, "What about the old man?"

Yuan pauses for a moment as he shovels bread into their packs. "...We can't waste time looking for him."

Kratos doesn't like it. The old man has mentored them, has listened to them argue and complain about the school, has made sure they could survive here and Out There. But he knows that Yuan's right. Time is not something that have enough of now.

It is as they're halfway outside when Kratos stops, grabbing Yuan's elbow to make him stop and turn around. "Your book—the one that the old man gave you to study magic…where is it?"

"Back in the room."

"Hide by the stables. I'll go get it and bring it back. Me running around is going to be a lot less suspicious. Actually," Kratos shrugs off his pack. "Take that for me, please. It would give me away."

"No, Kratos, don't—" Yuan snarls softly under his breath as Kratos starts dashing back inside. "Of all the times to be brave, you stupid…" The mutterings continue, even as he hoists Kratos' bag up and starts to head out to the stables.

* * *

 

It isn't difficult to find the book, but it's difficult to avoid people in the corridors. Classes are being let out and the students are going to their next subject and Kratos suddenly feels like he's from another world. The students all seem so _normal_ and, strangely, young with no fear of prison or being hung for their crimes.

Kratos had been going to take Noishe as well, but the small bowl that the protozoan has been living in was in pieces, water soaking into the floor. The fish is nowhere to be found, though the window is open and the chilly breeze makes Kratos shiver a little.

He's looking for something to hide the book in and, finding nothing, decides to hide it beneath his shirt. As he turns to leave, he freezes at who's at the door.

"Kratos." His father has always been a tall man, but never has he seemed so large as he is in this instant, taking up the entire doorway.

"…Father. I didn't know you were on campus."

"I arrived this morning. I heard the most interesting thing while I was speaking to the headmaster. Do you want to know what that is?"

"Yes, of course I would, but…I'll be late for class." The old inferiority before his father is inching its way closer, threatening to engulf him, but Kratos keeps Yuan's face firmly in his mind.

Sandor Aurion waves a hand dismissively. "You'll be excused. Now, as for the rumor, it seems that your slave is capable of reading."

Kratos feels something inside him go very cold. "R-really? Where would he have learned that?"

"That seems to be the question of the day." Sandor looked down at his son, who was still rather scrawny and awkward, nothing of a warrior. "You didn't teach him, did you?"

"Of-of course not." Kratos can feel his hands shaking. He would have run out a long time ago had his father not been blocking the door. "Isn't it against the law to teach those half-breeds," He has to spit that word out; it tastes like poison. "Anything?"

"Yes, yes it is." Sandor links his hands behind his back, walking into the room. His son only comes up slightly above his elbow. Still such a small boy. "So, you don't know anything about this?"

"No. I hadn't heard about it until you just told me. Have you found him?"

"No, not yet. But there's a search going on."

"I really hope you catch him, father." The lie tastes like ashes on his tongue. "I have to get to class." Kratos makes a break for it, nearly running into a group of students as he barrels out of the room.

"Kratos!" Sandor shouts as he follows him, but Kratos keeps running, slipping the book out from beneath his shirt as he did so. He's grateful for his size for the first time because it allows him to weave in and out of the crowds.

He nearly trips going down the stairs, but he manages to keep a hold on his balance. Once he's out on the training fields, he all-out sprints for the stables.

* * *

 

Yuan nearly leaps about a foot in the air when he feels something nudge his back. When he turns to see what it is, he swears his heart nearly bursts. He thinks that perhaps it would be a horse whose stall has been left open.

It isn't anything near a horse.

The bird is as tall as a horse though, with a long slender neck and a sharp beak. It has large eyes, slender around the edges like a hawk's, and they shift color with how the sunlight hits them. Its plumage is silverwhite and tinged with green like limes and the grass after the rain.

At first, Yuan backs up a bit because really, what else does someone do when there's an enormous, strange bird standing right behind you? But the bird shuffles forward, nudging at his chest gently with his beak. The colors are familiar, but the body they're on is so changed that Yuan can't quite believe it.

"Noishe?"

The bird trills a little, and Yuan can only stare in wonder. Where had the little fish gone? This creature is powerful and beautiful and nothing at all like the small animal that had swam circles in the bowl.

Noishe raises his head, eyes focused on something in the training fields. When Yuan follows his gaze, he sees a familiar person running straight for them.

* * *

 

Yuan steadies Kratos when he reaches them. Kratos grins tiredly at him. "Got it," he pants, holding up the book triumphantly.

"You're a moron, d'you know that?" Yuan says.

"I've been told," Kratos says, straightening up. "We need to go. My dad—he found out. He says that there's a schoolwide search going on for you."

"I'm so flattered," Yuan mutters. "Here, we'll take turns riding Noishe so we don't tire out as fast. You're taking first turn."

"You'll hear no objection from me." Kratos stares at Noishe, who only cocks his head and stares right back. "Looks like you really are a protozoan."

Noishe chirps and kneels low enough so Kratos can clamber on his back. Yuan gives him their packs to hold—it only makes sense because he isn't the one running—and hesitates before saying, "…You could stay, you know."

"What?" Kratos looks at Yuan, not understanding.

"You could stay here, with your people." Yuan can't quite meet Kratos' eyes right now. They've known each other so long, and he wants to think that Kratos won't take the option, will stay by his side instead, but--why would he? Why leave this life for one with no guarantees, no safety? "They don't know that you helped me."

Kratos shakes his head. "Not a chance."

"You're sure? There won't be no going back after this."

"'Any,'" Kratos corrects quietly. "Any going back. And yeah, I'm sure."


	30. On Their Own/Peaceful Waters

* * *

 

_You have brains in your head._   
_You have feet in your shoes._   
_You can steer yourself in any direction you choose._   
_You're on your own._   
_And you know what you know._   
_You are the guy who'll decide where to go._   
_~Dr. Seuss_

* * *

 

Yuan studies by moon and firelight, huddled beside Kratos and Noishe because, apparently, they're going north and nights are getting steadily colder. Kratos reads with him, even though he can't do magic. He has a pretty decent grasp of the theory, and it helps Yuan to have someone else to talk through the concepts with.

Yuan snarls in frustration. "Why can't I do this?" Understanding the words, theorems and science on the pages isn't difficult at all. But actually creating the magic is a bit harder. "I'm doing it exactly like it says in the book."

Kratos only shrugs. "I dunno."

Neither of them say what they know the other is thinking. Can all half-elves do magic? Is it possible that, in Yuan, the human blood is stronger and he can't do magic at all, can only feel it, constantly just out of his grasp?

* * *

 

They manage to stretch their small amount of bread pretty far, all things considered. It's hard and somewhat tasteless now, but they eat it without complaint because it is all they have as they trudge down the road. Noishe leaves them every evening to hunt. His beak and occasionally his claws are tinged red, and sometimes, he brings back a kill large enough for them to share, but not often enough.

The first town they come upon is filled with soldiers, going door to door asking whether the townspeople have seen two teenagers, a half-elf and a human, travelling together. They sleep in the pigpen, praying that the soldiers don't think to search there.

They don't realize it when they fall asleep on each other, only realizing it when someone gives a little scream and jolts them awake. Noishe squawks and flaps his wings, nearly trampling both boys in his panic while they scramble to their feet, backs against the wall.

The woman has a hard, haggard face and her eyes are very wide as she stares at them. "You two are the ones them soldiers were looking for!"

"Please don't turn us in," Kratos pleads, shifting slightly in front of Yuan. This woman is likelier to be nice to a human boy than a half-elven one. "We didn't do anything wrong."

"Bah! If soldiers like them are lookin' for you, o' course you did somethin' wrong."

"We really didn't!" Yuan says from behind Kratos, one hand on Noishe's neck as he tries to keep the protozoan calm.

The woman's eyes become disdainful as she looked at him. "We don't need no more o' your type in these parts."

"My type?" Yuan repeats. He knows exactly what type she means. _(Half-breeds…filth…vermin…)_

"Half-breeds've been poisonin' these lands for ages. The both of you need to get out of here 'afore I call them soldiers back."

Kratos sees the tension in Yuan and grabs his wrist. "C'mon, let's go," he mutters. "We need to keep moving."

It's only once they are well away from the town boundaries that Kratos lets Yuan go. "Why'd you do that?" Yuan asks.

"If you'd yelled at her, it would only have made things worse."

"You heard her, Kratos! I didn't want to just sit there and let her insult my people!"

"And then the soldiers would've arrested you! Or worse."

"Someone has to speak up for us! And since no one else seems to want to do it, it might as well be me! You heard her, I know you did. You heard what she said about half-elves. And she didn't even think twice about kicking us out. I told you, humans don't care about us."

Kratos bites his lip. "And you want to stand up to people like that? People that would kill you without a second thought?"

Yuan stares at him. As much as Kratos has grown—which isn't much, physically, but he's become so much braver—and as much as Yuan had thought that he'd changed, it seems that Kratos is still very much the shy, quiet boy he'd been when they met.

"Some things are worth risking that for, Kratos."

Kratos shakes his head. "Not like this. If-if you _had_ spoken up to that woman, she would've called the soldiers and you'd be dead. You said it yourself—humans don't care about you. No one but me would've even known your name, or why you did what you did."

Yuan sighs and runs a hand through his hair, wincing when he reaches the tangles. "…Let's just keep walking."

* * *

They walk until they can't anymore. Literally.

Yuan stares out. "Is that the ocean, Kratos?"

"I think so." It looks like the illustrations of the ocean in the old storybooks that Kratos used to have, at the very least. And it matches the descriptions in all the novels.

Yuan sets down his pack and steps cautiously closer to the water that laps at the sandy shore, though he refuses to step down off the rocky shelf that he and Kratos are standing on. The water really is the color of Mama's eyes, he thinks, and he crouches to sweep a hand through the water caught in some rocks.

"Hellsfire, but that's _cold,_ " Yuan hisses, drawing his hand back.

"It was winter less than a month ago, Yuan. What did you expect?" Yuan can hear Kratos smiling without looking at him. Kratos has taken off his boots and his socks, and he shivers as the waves catch up to his feet.

"This should all be ice right now," Yuan says, keeping a safe distance from the darker waters that he knows go deeper. He'd never learned to swim, not in waters like this. Waters that are certainly over his head, and that are churning and powerful. "I wonder what those waves would look like."

"If they were frozen?" Kratos has rolled up his pants to about his knees, and is standing shin-deep in the freezing water. It doesn't really feel all that cold to him, but perhaps that's because it had snowed every winter back home and he rather likes the cold.

"Mm."

"…I think they'd look pretty cool, actually." Kratos can see it in his mind, the pale ice against this gray and gold world. He can see the way it would look at sunset, gleaming and glowing and how it would look at night, hauntingly beautiful.

Yuan laughs softly. He likes this place. It's…different here. Like this place has never heard of the war. Like the world had never been separated into races. It paints an interesting picture; nothing like the green fields and red pomegranates of his childhood, of course. This place is yellow sand and blue waves with grey stones and pale sunshine, but he likes it for its raw honesty.

"…How deep do you suppose it is?"

"Deeper than we can hold our breaths," Kratos tells him, smiling.

"Obviously. But, haven't you ever thought about what's at the bottom? If there is a bottom? Do animals live there? Or-or people, maybe? I've heard stories of sea elves."

"Sea elves?" The human frowns. He's never heard of any such thing.

"Yeah. The travelling players that came to my village used to tell me stories about the Summon Spirits. 'Parently, Undine was a seal elf once. Humans call 'em mermaids or they disguise themselves as— what're they called, dolphins? Yeah, dolphins—and she had the most powerful magic of all the sea elves. She was lonely, but she cared about everyone, so Origin took pity on her and made her into a Summon Spirit, where she wouldn't be lonely because she had all the other Spirits and she could watch over the world and the people she loves so much."

"…How do you remember all these?"

"All what?" Yuan asks, tugging his boots and socks off before carefully hopping down from the rocks. The sand squishes beneath his feet, and there is the curious sensation of the waves pulling the sand away even as he's standing on it.

"All these stories you tell me."

Yuan shrugs. "I can remember everything anyone's ever told me."

"That's amazing. I wish I could do that."

"Maybe you can write it all down one day," Yuan says, sitting back on the rocks, his feet the only things feeling the iciness of the water. "No one's ever done that, I don't think."

"And you can teach other half-elves to read."

Yuan smiles, leaning back on his hands. "I think I'd like that. And so would they."

The thought enters Yuan's mind that, perhaps one day, if it's still standing, he'd find his little village in the mountains and find his house and perhaps he would finally read all of those newspaper articles that Mama had plastered on their wall. He would finally have names and stories to go along with the pictures he'd looked at for nine years.

And maybe he'd find Zaren again, and he would show his brother just how much he'd grown up and learned, and he'd introduce him to Kratos, his newest brother, his other half, and maybe things would be different then.

"…Let's stay here for the night," Kratos suggests. "It's safe and I like it here."

"It's…" Yuan searches for a word. "Peaceful."

"Yeah. Peaceful." The word sounds strange in their mouths. They are children of war, are children of homes and families torn apart, and of battle. Peace has never had anything to do with it.

But things can change.


	31. Lightning Crash

* * *

 

_We saw the lightning and that was the guns and then we heard the thunder and that was the big guns; and then we heard the rain falling and that was the blood falling; and when we came to get in the crops, it was dead men that we reaped.  
~Harriet Tubman_

* * *

 

Yuan wakes because something is irritating him and he doesn't know what it is. He shifts at first, trying to displace it—he could've simply slept wrong, after all—but the irritation doesn't go away. So he squints his eyes open to the lightening sky, the sun not yet entirely risen. He turns a little, trying to find the source of the irritation.

He shoves gently at Kratos, whose cheek is on his arm. Spring is well underway—by Yuan's estimation, it's actually going to be summer soon—and the nights are still rather chilly here. When Kratos doesn't even stir, Yuan shoves harder, nearly dislodging Kratos entirely.

"Wha-whaz goin' on?" Kratos sits up sleepily, yawning.

"You were scratching me."

The human blinks at him, not entirely awake yet. "What?"

"You. Scratching. Me," Yuan repeats slowly, knowing how Kratos is in the morning. He even holds up his arm, whose skin is red, as proof.

Kratos stares at the arm for a moment. "How'd I scratch you if that's where my head was?"

"I dunno. You've done weird things bef—hold still for a minute." Kratos frowns, but obliges as Yuan's hand comes up to poke at his cheek, leaning close to try and see in the dim light of the morning.

"Is there something particularly fascinating on my cheek?"

"Um, kind of. But you might want to feel for yourself."

Kratos' frown deepens, but he does anyway. "…It's rough. Yuan, I've got stubble."

Yuan pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. "My boy's all grown up…"

Kratos rolls his eyes and pushes him just hard enough so that he falls off balance. "One of us has to be."

The half-elf laughs as he stands up before holding out a hand to help Kratos up. "Come on, mountain man. We're already running late. The sun's up."

* * *

 

The fishing village is the first they've seen in months and it shows. They are cleaner than most travelers because they'd washed themselves in the ocean that they'd been travelling parallel to for months now, but the dirt of the road is still on them. The village is small, but busy and there are fishing boats already out on the water.

"I've never seen anything like this," Yuan says, trying to take everything in. He's only ever seen little villages, and the Aurion plantation. This village is entirely different, full of energy and people.

"Me neither." Kratos' eyes are focused on the nets of fish that the fishermen are hauling onto the dock, and the way they're skinning and preparing them to be sold.

Yuan follows Kratos' eyes. "Do we have any money left? We could share a fish."

Kratos digs in his pocket and grimaces at the few coins that they have left. They've been living on rabbits and—if they could—fish that they'd tried catching in the ocean. Sometimes, Noishe brought back enough for all of them, but food is still fairly scarce. "We have some. Hopefully, those fish aren't too expensive."

"Nothing tried, nothing gained. Isn't that a human saying?"

Kratos snorts. Yuan has picked up human culture surprisingly quickly, not that that helps much. He is 'elf-pretty' as a lot of the villagers have called it, but there is something about him that says that he isn't a pure elf. "Yeah, it is. C'mon then."

The men on the docks are huge—or, they are to the two thin, half-grown boymen—and they're eyeing them suspiciously. But there is no shouting insults, no stones being thrown at them. As far as strangers go, these people don't seem so bad.

"H-how much? For a fish," Kratos asks. He does most of the talking these days. Humans seems adept at ignoring half-elves.

The fisherman is grizzled, scarred, and very brown. He looks them over carefully before shaking his head. "Don't pull out any o' that money, boy. Take one. Ya look like you be needin' it."

Kratos waits for him to burst out laughing, to tell them that he's just kidding, but it never comes. Instead, he chooses a moderate-sized fish—doesn't want to take advantage of the man's hospitality, after all—and smiles as he thanks him.

They find a place by some crates and take turns taking bites from the raw fish there. It's the best food they've had in a week.

"Over there!"

They freeze instinctively, pressing themselves flat against the crates and hoping that they won't get noticed. But the soldiers are there, leveling weapons at them and all they have is what's in their packs, and Noishe is staying outside the village limits like he always does because people tend to get antsy at the sight of an enormous white bird.

Yuan comes to his senses first, grabbing Kratos' arm and breaking into a run. They slip a little on the wet wood, but keep going because if the soldiers catch them, there will be no more travelling, no more familiar, murmuring voices reading aloud at night, no more seeing the ocean, no more Yuan-and-Kratos.

The soldiers block them in and they're shouting at the boymen, telling them to surrender and that they're under arrest. The world suddenly feels so very small and the salty air is tight in Yuan's lungs because he can see the dank, dark cell where they might throw Kratos and the gallows where he knows they'll hang him if they don't just roll his body into a swamp first.

Something sizzles in his blood and the world flashes violet for a moment and it feels absolutely _right_ and _free_. Dimly, he hears thunder crackle, and someone saying something to him.

"…An…Yuan, you did it." Kratos' eyes are very wide, pupils small like someone shone a flashlight in his eyes.

"Did it?" Yuan frowns, but he looks around and sees the burnt bodies of the soldiers. "…I did that?" His stomach churns because people aren't supposed to burn like that, aren't supposed to stare at the sky without seeing it and he wants nothing more than to run and never look back.

"Yeah. You-you made _lightning_."

Yuan remembers the storms that he could see coming from miles away over the fields, the storms he'd seen from his perch in the pomegranate trees. He remembers seeing the shadows fall over the grass and the trees, remembers the way he'd watch his kinsmen herd their flocks back towards the village. He remembers watching the world bend and sway beneath the storm's might. _(But never break because you couldn't break the world)_

The lightning he'd seen then is nothing like the lightning he knows he'd called down. He'd thought that when he used magic, it would feel wonderful and liberating, but right now, seeing soldiers who probably have families back home _(Like Poppi and Dehua and Kail did)_ he feels terrible.

Kratos tugs at Yuan's arm. "C'mon, we have to go. More soldiers'll be here soon." Yuan follows him, mind still distant and reeling, but his thoughts catch up sharply when he sees Kratos bending to pick up one of the soldier's swords.

Red-brown eyes meet blue. "I need to be able to fight too."

Yuan doesn't know why that bothers him. Of course Kratos knows how to fight. Of course Kratos is going to be just as protective of Yuan as he is of him. But it still feels inherently wrong. Where is the nervous boy who'd first walked into the slaves' quarters? Where is the boy who'd read beneath the tree in the schoolyard? Who loved reading so much that he wanted to teach it to a half-elf, even though it was illegal? Who'd taught him to write his name?

Logically, Yuan knows that that boy is here, in front of him, but the boyman that Kratos is right now, a sword in hand and shadows in his eyes, isn't him.

If this is growing up means, becoming someone so off-kilter with who you'd been that you don't recognize yourself, Yuan thinks, then he wants no part of it,


	32. Drowning Love

* * *

 

 _"Do you notice, love, that I'm not crying_  
in your arms by shouting for gladness?  
I bless the day I was born,  
that has drowned me now in so much beauty."  
-Albino Pierro **(I Love You)**

* * *

 

It didn't take Yuan long to get accustomed to the rocking of the ship that they'd hopped on after the incident with the soldiers. The captain had given the boymen one look, nodded, and said, "'S a good thing, what you did. Not many folks're willing to stand up to them soldiers. Yer welcome on my ship so long as you can work."

They scrubbed the deck and helped in the kitchen, though the captain had insisted they wash up at his house first.

_He'd knocked on the bathroom door, waiting for Kratos to give his okay before entering. He found the boyman staring at himself in the mirror like he didn't know the reflection._

_"Yer first beard, boy?" Kratos nodded. "…Didn't yer pop ever teach you to shave?"_

_Kratos shook his head. "…No. He-" He wondered what lie to use. Then he decided on the most truthful one. "He's dead." Or, he was to Kratos-and-Yuan._

_The captain's face softened for a moment. Such things weren't strange in this age of war, but there was something wrong if a boy didn't learn to shave from his own father. "Do you want me to teach you?"_

_Kratos nodded again. The stubble didn't look right on his face, especially since he could still see some faint traces of baby fat on his cheeks. And he could remember his father with stubble occasionally. It had always appeared blue on his skin because he never allowed the stubble to stay for more than a day._

_When Kratos had come out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, his cheeks feeling a bit raw and a thin cut along the underside of his chin, Yuan had tilted his head and said, "You're yourself again."_

Yuan had always been the first one awake, but not now. Now, the constant tossing and turning of the ship kept Kratos awake. And Yuan didn't get very much sleep either. He kept seeing the burnt bodies and hearing everyone congratulate him on what he did. It didn't feel right, killing people.

"…Hey, Kratos?" Yuan called softly to the bunk beneath his.

"Mm?"

"D'you…I mean, would you ever kill anyone?"

"…Not for just anything or anyone, no."

Yuan didn't need to ask to know that he was one of the qualified few, perhaps even the only person, that Kratos would be willing to kill for. And again, he wondered where his friend had gone.

_(At first, Yuan wants to say that he would never be willing to kill someone, but then he thinks of Kratos, of his first real friend and new brother. Of secrets shared and stories told; of races under dappled sunlight and climbing trees just to ride out a storm. For that, Yuan thinks…for that, he might be willing to kill someone if it meant Kratos would still be breathing and laughing right next to him)_

* * *

"Boys, is that your bird?"

Yuan and Kratos immediately looked up from where they were mopping the deck. The captain had reluctantly allowed Noishe to come on his ship, but only so long as the bird stayed in the hold. They'd argued that he couldn't expect a bird to stay constantly locked away, that Noishe needed room to spread his wings. The captain had grudgingly said that the bird could come out at night for a bit.

And it was indeed Noishe who was balanced on the bow of the ship, staring out at the water, wings folded tightly against his body and his long neck arched like a swan's.

"I'll get him." Yuan said, handing Kratos his mop. Kratos apparently wasn't meant for the sea because this entire trip, he'd had a vague greenish tint to his skin. Yuan carefully balanced himself on the railing _(It was like standing on a tree branch and breathing the scent of pomegranates in the wind)_ and crept up so he could reach Noishe.

"Hey, Noishe, c'mon down," Yuan coaxed. "It's less wet over there." By quite a bit as the ocean's spray was strong out on the bow.

The bird turned to look at him and the greenbrowngray eyes were ancient and full of a very different kind of intelligence. It didn't frighten Yuan _(This is Noishe, and Noishe has never hurt us and won't hurt us)_ but he saw something there that made him get down.

"He isn't coming down," Yuan told the captain. "But…he isn't in the way there either, so…"

The captain looked down at the bo yand sighed. _(His mother had always told him that half-elves were dirty, filthy liars, but this boy—clearly a half-elf because he's a mesh of smooth elven angles, and human squareness, and teenage awkwardness—is polite and quiet and a hard worker. The other boy is much the same, but he was all human, short with wide eyes that he'd seen a protective glint in.)_ "He can stay there. I don't like it, but there ain't much we can do 'bout it."

* * *

Yuan's fingers hurt from gripping the rail so tightly and he could see Noishe, a vague, gray silhouette in the sheets of pelting rain, and Kratos was right beside him, one hand on his arm, refusing to let go and the other on the rail.

_"…Uan…Yuan!" Kratos' voice broke through the fog of sleep and Yuan registered being shaken urgently awake._

_He sat up, nearly crashing into Kratos in his haste. "What? What's going on?"_

_Kratos looked worried and nervous and when lightning flashed outside, Yuan saw that the green tinge had spread a bit more. "We're caught in a storm, captain says."_

Sails rigged against the whirling winds tore apart, ropes snapped and, try as he might, the captain couldn't lead them out to safer waters. Thunder grumbled and roared, lightning—violently violet and fierce—splitting the sky and illuminating the churning waves.

Both he and Kratos felt the way the ship was suddenly balanced on the edge of a knife, tipping and Time extended and stretched beyond the here and now. For an instant, Yuan felt himself suspended in midair as the bottom of his world suddenly vanished and where was Kratos? Had he not been warm on his arm and right beside him?

Water was suddenly over his head, in his lungs and everywhere and Yuan didn't know which way was up. He couldn't breathe and he tried swimming, but he didn't know where anyone was or which way was up and all he wanted was to be back in a tree, listening to the wind and feeling the rain. He searched the gloom, searched for familiar redbrown or flashes of silver wings. But they aren't there and no one's there and wouldn't it be easier to just not try…?

* * *

There were voices, vague voices, and a warm weight on him before the black comes back. The black stayed for a while before he heard the voices again and there was something soft beneath his fingers.

One of the voices was familiar and the one he'd so wanted to hear. "'tos?"

"Yuan." The relief was evident in his voice. "You're awake."

"Where'd I go?" Yuan asked groggily and he tried to blink open his eyes, but even that was an effort because they felt so heavy and crusted with salt.

"You almost drowned." There was fear in Kratos' voice and Yuan was ashamed to be glad of it because it meant that it wasn't this new boyman that was still somehow his best friend. His Kratos—cowardly and kind and strangely stubborn—was still here. "Noishe saved you."

"Noishe?" Yuan's vision was still a little blurry, but he could see Kratos—damp and not so green, but his face was pinched with worry and Noishe was right behind him, wide, intelligent eyes watching him. His feathers were still dripping a little and droplets plopped from his beak. Yuan had never been happier to see the protozoan. "You're amazing, I ever tell you that?"

Noishe nudged his head with his beak and Yuan had the feeling that Noishe understood him.

"You're very lucky."

Yuan hadn't noticed the other person and he turned his head to look towards them. His breath vanished when he did and he felt like he was drowning all over again, but at the same time, he was flying and he was very okay with that.

"Yuan, this is Martel. She knows some Healing craft and she brought you back," Kratos introduced.

Martel had pale green hair—like pomegranate leaves in the spring— that might have been in a braid before it came undone and her eyes were a bit like Noishe's, brown-green _(Hazel, Yuan remembers distantly that it's called)_ and they shifted colors depending on how the light hit them. Freckles were scattered across her nose and her dress was still damp from the rain. Her eyes were vaguely slanted and her hair shifted forward, revealing triangular ears.

She smiled at him and his mind went blank for a minute before he remembered that she was speaking. "…meet you. Your friend here's been alternating between fussing and cursing at you."

Yuan blinked at her in confusion. "Cursing? Kratos?"

"Mmhm."

Yuan turned back to the human, who was very determinedly not looking at him. "…Are you sure you're not sick? And seasick doesn't count."

He saw the smile before Kratos looked back to him. "I don't think so. And you would be the only one in the world to nearly drown when you were holding onto the rail."

Yuan smiled a little, his body still too heavy to even consider moving. "It's one of my many talents."

"You call that a talent?" It was a different voice, younger and when Yuan looked down his body, he saw a child standing there.

To be perfectly honest, the child was lovely. Sunshine hair that was long enough to reach his chin and summer sky eyes that were the same kind of slanted as Martel's and his own. He was paler than Martel and he looked almost entirely elven, all smooth angles and high cheekbones.

"This is Mithos, my little brother," Martel introduced.

Yuan tried to find a resemblance. The shape of the mouth, perhaps, and the very human forehead, which was broader than that of elves. Beyond that though, there was nothing.

"Nice to meet you." Yuan decided that he really should be sitting up because the wood beneath him was damp and what felt like a splinter was digging into the small of his back at an uncomfortable angle. Kratos understood what he was trying to do and helped him up. "…Where have you been? On this ship. We haven't seen you."

Martel ducked her head, abashed. "We're stowaways."

"Huh. Where're you running from?" The question should be strange and awkward. It wasn't.

"Heimdall."

"That's across the continent!" Yuan exclaimed. He'd seen the maps in Kratos' textbooks, had traced a finger over the uneven borders and had tried to imagine the great elven cities.

"We've been running for a while." There was a sudden hint of hardness in her eyes and her hands fisted. Yuan had no doubt that Martel was stronger than she appeared.

"So've we." Yuan hesitated, glancing at Kratos, who read the look in his eyes and just smiled. "Want to run with us?"

"Where you running to?"

"So far, nowhere in particular. There was a vague plan to go to the capital, learn magic."

Martel's forehead creased with confusion and Yuan saw her look at Kratos. But Mithos spoke up, excitement coloring his voice and expression. "Can we, Martel? It's magic. You and I could both learn!"

Martel looked at her little brother _(He's still the same little boy who'd clutched at her skirt the day their parents were sent to Undine, still the same smile and same bright, eager eyes. She never wants him to change)_ and sighed. "Alright. But I don't want to trouble you all."

Kratos smiled encouragingly. "I could use the change in company. Yuan'll drive anyone crazy if you stay with him long enough."

Yuan playfully pushed him, even as he laughed along with Martel and Mithos. Yuan-and-Kratos were a strange thing, Martel thought, watching them. So close, and yet they were so very different. At first, when Kratos had knelt by Yuan as she was trying to get air back in his lungs and his heart beating again and told her that please, could she save his best friend, she'd thought he was being absurd. A human, friends with a half-elf? Impossible.

_(It doesn't take her long to learn that Yuan-and-Kratos, whether separate or together, are good at defying the impossible)_

* * *

 

After Martel and Mithos were taken aside to talk to the captain, Yuan beckoned Kratos closer. "I'm gonna marry her one day, Kratos. I can feel it."


	33. Chapter 33

* * *

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_The friend who holds your hand and says the wrong thing is made of dearer stuff than the one who stays away.  
~Barbara Kingsolver_

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Kratos volunteered for the night watch most nights these days. He was suffering a little for it—he'd always been fond of his sleep—but that wasn't the point right now. The point was that Yuan couldn't sleep. And not in the normal way, where it was just restlessness or dreams of the future.

Some nights, Yuan woke up screaming.

Martel and Mithos startled awake those nights, but Kratos always assured Martel that he'd take care of him, that they should go back to sleep. And Kratos would gently shake Yuan awake, trying to shush his nightmares away.

"I can still feel it, Kratos," Yuan said quietly, arms wrapped around his knees and forehead resting on his kneecaps. "All that water…and, I couldn't breathe…"

Kratos wrapped his arms around him, not sure what else to do. He's sure that Martel would be better at this comforting thing, but this wasn't hers to take care of. This was them, Kratos-and-Yuan and they'd been taking care of each other a long time before the ship and the storm.

"…You weren't there," Yuan murmured. "No one was there…and I couldn't see nothing…"

Kratos just held him tighter, pressing his nose to Yuan's hair. And no, they weren't exactly clean and Yuan's hair smelled of sea salt and sweat and dirt, but it's Yuan and nothing would've made Kratos pull away.

"I don't want that to happen again, Kratos. Don't wanna be alone."

"You're not," Kratos said firmly.

"…Water hurts. Did you know that, Kratos? And it's really heavy." Yuan paused, trying to find words for his thoughts. "…It's full of longing." Kratos stared at him then and Yuan's shoulders shrugged. "It is. And then when it fills you up, then you're full of longing and all you want is to listen to it and follow it down, no matter where it takes you."

It sounded horrible, but Kratos knew that telling Yuan that wouldn't help. Instead, he said, "No more alcohol for you."

That made Yuan laugh and that sound let Kratos know that his friend was going to be okay. Maybe not right now, maybe not soon, but eventually, Yuan would be alright again.


	34. Chapter 34

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_"If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life…"  
_ _-The Great Gatsby **(F. Scott Fitzgerald)**_

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They were a strange pair. That was Martel's first impression of Yuan-and-Kratos, or any variations of it.

Yuan was all mischievous grins and glints mixed with a curiosity to rival Mithos'. He was strangely sweet and easy to like. His was a peculiar charm, full of things that could almost have been insults had it not been for the smile that accompanied them and the lightness of his tone.

He and Mithos argued and fought—never anything serious and Kratos assured her, the first time that they got into a wrestling match, that Yuan would never hurt him—but sometimes, they were friends. Yuan knew how to spark the competitive spark in Mithos, and Kratos and Martel would laugh as they raced down the plains.

More than once, Martel had seen Yuan and Kratos with a book shared between them, sitting close by the fire, and reading quietly to each other. Those times, neither she nor Mithos intruded because those moments were theirs.

Kratos was harder for Martel to like. Not because of him; no, Kratos was polite and had a different brand of sweetness than Yuan and he was oddly gentle despite the sword he wore at his hip and the shadows in his odd eyes. His sense of humor was dry to Yuan's sarcasm, but they worked in an easy tandem.

And she'd seen him with Yuan on the nights when the other half-elf woke shouting and screaming. That first night, Martel had of course been woken by his sounds, as had Mithos. She'd told Mithos to go back to sleep and had been about to go help Yuan when Kratos had crossed the short space between them.

_"Go on back to bed, Martel," Kratos said quietly, a small, reassuring smile on his lips. "I'll take care of him."_

And he did, with soft words and brotherhood and something that Martel couldn't hear, but she heard Yuan's burst of laughter and she knew that he'd be alright.

Martel was still a little afraid of him, though not because of anything he did because Kratos had done nothing, but listen to her share her stories and life with Yuan, who voiced the questions that Kratos was too polite to ask. Mithos walked with him often, seeming to trust him a little easier and he made Mithos laugh and light up like he hadn't in a good long while.

But he was human. And every instinct in Martel was telling her to not trust him.

But then she saw how he and Yuan were around each other. Playful, shining, soaring, one soul in two bodies, two sides of a coin, two faces of the same person.

It was unique and incredible and absolutely _impossible_ because humans and half-elves couldn't possibly be so close.

But they were.

* * *

They were nice people, Yuan-and-Kratos thought. Martel and Mithos, that was.

Martel was maternal and gentle, with a surprisingly sharp wit, and an easy smile. Yuan had been in love with her since he laid eyes on her—quite literally from what Kratos had been told by his best friend—and Kratos couldn't blame him. Martel was lovely and very real, with skin that browned and freckled and peeled and her cheeks pinked when Yuan would tug teasingly on her braid before she retorted by pointing out his own hair, which only made him laugh.

Mithos was…different. He was intelligent and bright and, to Kratos, from what Yuan had told him of the Summon Spirits, he looked like he should be Luna's son. And he reminded Kratos a little of Yuan when they'd first met; always observing, curious, always wanting to know _more_.

It was strange to be travelling with other people. It had been just Them for so long that everyone else had seemed so distant. But Martel-and-Mithos was the same as Them and not. They were the earth to their sky and somehow, they fit.

Kratos saw the slightly skeptical look on Martel's face when he and Yuan acted like, well, themselves. He knew what she was thinking, that this couldn't be possible, that humans and half-elves couldn't be so close. And he knew that Yuan agreed with him because he'd seen it too.

They strived to prove her, and Mithos because surely he must think some semblance of the same thing, wrong.

Kratos helped Martel with the firewood and was genuinely interested in what she had to say. He wanted to hear stories of Heimdall, of the places they'd been and the people they'd met. Martel's voice was vaguely musical and quiet, very similar to her brother's. Kratos wasn't sure if it was an accent or something simply Mithos-and-Martel.

Either way, something about her voice made Kratos ask if she played an instrument.

Martel looked surprised. "Yes, I do. The flute."

"Really? Can, I mean, would you play for us sometime?" Kratos smiled a little sheepishly. "Yuan and I aren't very good at anything to do with music."

"Particularly Kratos," Yuan commented, flashing a grin to combat Kratos' playful glare. "I swear, he's tone-deaf. Never ever ask him to sing for you. "

Martel's laugh was silvery and smooth. "Sure, I'll play for you."

The Yggdrasill siblings were close; easy to love and beautiful and Kratos-and-Yuan was easy enough to stretch around them until they were part of their own strange patchwork family. They're more elven than Yuan and quieter than Kratos and so very stubborn sometimes _(They fit right in, Yuan laughs)_

Kratos had to agree with him.


	35. Flow

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_The task of the excellent teacher is to stimulate "apparently ordinary" people to unusual effort. The tough problem is not in identifying winners: it is in making winners out of ordinary people.  
~K. Patricia Cross_

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"So, wait, you know how to use magic already?" Yuan asked, looking at Martel. They had all decided that it was probably better that they not travel when the sun was highest in the sky due to the sheer heat in this area and they'd found a stream—half dried up, but still some relief from the heat.

Martel tucked a lock of hair behind a triangular ear. "Yes. All elven children are taught the very basics." She refused to think about the education that Mithos never had as she glanced at her little brother, floating on the water, dozing lightly.

"So how did you learn?" Kratos asked. Despite his manners, whenever he asked a question, he was very straightforward and occasionally even blunt. Martel rather appreciated it. At the current moment, Kratos was lounging on the ground, leaning back against Noishe, who Martel still wasn't accustomed to seeing. "I mean, I didn't think that the elves were very fond of half-elves."

He and Yuan addressed the race issue between them easily, without hesitation. As though the difference in race wasn't even an issue for them. And, from the way they acted, it wasn't. The regarded it casually, and they even teased each other about it. It was strange to Martel, but she liked it.

"They're not." Martel slid her bare feet into the water. "I…I had a good friend growing up that was an elf. She taught me what magic she learned in school."

Yuan-and-Kratos didn't ask after what happened to that friend. They can imagine. After all, that situation was not so different from them and they'd imagined all of the scenarios that could have taken them apart.

Yuan leaned forward, slipping a little off the bwarm boulder he was resting on. "Could you teach me?"

"I thought you knew how to do magic. All the sailors were talking about how you used it on the soldiers."

Yuan avoided her eyes. "Well…I can't really use it on purpose yet. I know the theory, but I can't seem to actually…do it."

Martel saw it on his face, how ashamed he was of his lack of control of his own skills, and how very much he wanted to relieve himself of the magic that, from the look of it, seemed to constantly be itching itself beneath his skin. "I'm no teacher, but I would be willing to try."

Yuan beamed brightly at her. "You're an angel."

* * *

 

"You already know what you have to do," Martel said patiently a few days later. "You just have to let it happen."

Yuan avoided her eyes. "What if I hurt someone?" What if he hurt her? He'd never be able to live with himself if he hurt Martel and he refused to think about what Mithos would do to him if he did.

"That's why you're up on that rock and I'm back here." Martel wasn't afraid of Yuan, even knowing what lack of control in magic could mean. But Yuan's fear was gripping his magic so tightly that it couldn't even get out, and she knew that he wouldn't hurt her.

Yuan shifted cautiously on the boulders rising out of the ocean that he was balancing on. Looking out at the ocean made him nervous, but not enough to not be able to stand here, on perfectly dry ground.

 _(Kratos volunteers to sit on a lower rock, as a safeguard and a touchstone of sanity—_ he'snotalone he'snotalone— _and Yuan vehemently tells him no. What would happen if he missed? Kratos just looks at him with those redbrown eyes that had always been too old for his face and far too trusting and just says, "You won't hurt me," like it's a given._

_To Kratos, it was.)_

Yuan glanced down and Kratos sat there, bare feet in the water and watching Yuan with that teacher's patience of his. Mithos was farther back than even Martel, standing on the border of sand and solid ground, watching curiously.

"Okay." Yuan breathed out, the salty air stinging his cheeks, but not his lungs and that made it okay. "What do I do?"

"You have to focus on something out there." Martel inclined her head out towards the horizon _(It's a very different horizon than the one Yuan remembers from his seat in his pomegranate trees, all blues and seashell white as opposed to the brown-green of pastures and the gray of storm clouds)_ "And imagine what you want to happen."

Yuan took another deep, salt-tasting breath. The magic was there, itching at his fingers and beneath his skin and, once upon a time, he'd thought that the thing he wanted the most was to get the itch _out_ , but he knew better now. He could live with the itch if it meant that Kratos, Martel and Mithos were safe.

He remembered what he read on the page, remembered the spell and the elements of the circle that was supposed to appear. And he can feel the mana in his body rising to meet the spell's demands, to mix and merge with the mana in the air to create the spell, but then he saw the burned bodies of the soldiers _(They had families too, didn't they? People they loved, places they wanted to go home to? They weren't so different)_ and the mana choked, suddenly retreating back into whatever cavity in his body it lived in.

"I-I can't. It doesn't…" Yuan couldn't put it into words, wasn't sure that there _were_ words for something like this.

But Kratos knew how to read him, but he couldn't really help either, his blood dry of the spark of mana that produced magic. But he stood and leaned his arms on the rocks.

Kratos was the tallest of all of them right now—and wasn't that a strange picture?—lanky and stretched out. His pants were too short at the ankles and his shirts were very close to almost too short and they're too tight at the shoulders, even after Martel had let out some of the seams. At the next town, they'd agreed, they'd do some work for clothes that fit properly. And Kratos had lost much of the baby fat in his cheeks and sometimes, Yuan found it difficult to see the boy he remembered in his face. But he stumbled and tripped over his own too-long limbs and Yuan would chuckle and help him up, even as Kratos shot him a look.

"The old man would've cuffed you over the head if you gave him that excuse," Kratos said.

Yuan understood what he didn't say as he ignored the memories. The old man was the one person who'd believed in them, and they'd left without so much as a goodbye or a note. "A new teaching method you're thinking of adapting?"

Kratos grinned at him. "Possibly."

Yuan sighed. Magic should feel natural, he knew that. He'd even seen Mama light the oven on her good days. She would say a word, wave her hand and the flames appear, licking at the fuel that Yuan collected a few times a week. He couldn't do that.

Perhaps if he tried a different approach. He didn't think about the spell or the consequences _(Can't think about those because then everything just chokes itself off and if he keeps letting that happen, the magic won't spark for him anymore and he'll only have a vague memory of it)_ and he just draws the mana up from wherever it liked to hide in himself—perhaps even the same place that Kratos' bravery hid until it was needed—and tried to shoot it out from his fingertips. Surely something was better than nothing.

The next thing he was aware of, he was flat on his back—which he had a feeling was going to be bruised tomorrow—staring up at Martel and Kratos' vaguely amused and concerned faces. "…That didn't work, did it?"

Kratos shook his head. "Not at all." He reached down, helping Yuan to his feet. "But it was worth a shot."

"If you say so."

"You're doing it wrong," Mithos said suddenly, and all three of them looked back at him.

"What do you mean?"

Mithos crossed the sand quickly—he was still small, still looking more like four rather than six. It was part of being a half-elf. There were periods of rapid growth, particularly during the first few years of life, before there were long plateaus of staying the same. Mithos was in one of those plateaus, as Yuan had been for the past two years.

"You were concentrating it in one point, right?" Mithos said, looking up at him with very blue eyes. "Your fingertips."

"Uh-huh. But what's that got to do with it?"

"You're pushing all of the mana out at once, so it forced you back. It's here," Mithos had to go on his toes to reach Yuan's shoulder. "And here," Mithos pointed to Yuan's wrist. "Try focusing there instead of your fingertips. The flow, not the flood."

The boy's eyes reminded Yuan of Kratos', old for his face and years. "How do you know?"

Mithos shrugged. "I could _see_ it. The mana, I mean."

"Mithos…" Martel crouched next to him.

"'S okay, Martel," he assured her quickly, seeing the concern in her eyes. "It don't hurt. And it's kinda interesting, actually. And I don't see it all the time."

Martel thought about arguing, thought about telling him that seeing mana could develop into something dangerous _(Some of the old men in Heimdall could see it and she knew that they weren't always there in the head)_ , but she glanced at Yuan, the hope on his face; at Kratos with his protective instincts, and Mithos with his quiet hope and understanding and she sighed.

"Alright. Besides, it'll probably help more than I can. I've only ever really learned Healing." Martel didn't think about the spells that she couldn't remember learning, but that she shouted instinctively when the wolves had attacked her and Mithos. Golden light had sliced through them, illuminating the clearing and she could still see the remains of the wolves in her mind. _(But that was alright because it was to keep Mithos safe and she would do anything for him)_

Yuan focused on what Mithos had said, on the mana, not on the consequences, not on anything else. Shoulders, wrist, flow. He felt the itch for a moment before there was a burst of barely controlled mana and lightning cracked, far and away, on the waves.

Yuan gasped for breath, stunned and amazed and feeling utterly breathless. The itch was gone, even though he knew it was only temporary. It was gone, and everyone was alright, and the laughter was bubbling up without him thinking about it, and he hugged Mithos. "Thanks, kid."

Mithos just grinned. "Told ya so."


	36. A Study in Differences

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_Sometimes it's a form of love just to talk to somebody that you have nothing in common with and still be fascinated by their presence.  
~David Byrne_

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"I'm sorry I couldn't be more help to you," Martel said, walking with Yuan along the beach. They could still see the campfire from here and, sometimes, Yuan imagined they could see the lights of the capital on the horizon, though according to Kratos, they still had a good two or three weeks travel until they reached it.

"It's fine. Your coaching was actually the first I've ever gotten in terms of magic." Yuan stayed well away from the waves gently lapping at the shore. Martel didn't. She liked the feel of the wet sand between her toes and the cool ocean at her ankles.

Martel frowned at him. "But…how did you come by that book then? It's an old text, but a good one. My uncle had one like it from his school days."

Yuan kicked a rock down the beach. "...There was this…old elf at the military school. We never learned why he was there—it seemed like we had forever to ask, y'know?—but he's the one who taught Kratos and I to fight, and Kratos managed to convince him to be a tutor in magic. But before he could…well."

Martel could fill in that blank easily enough. "You were discovered."

"Mm." Yuan remembered Alina's face and just as quickly, tried to forget it.

"…Kratos must love you very much," Martel said, looking sideways at him. "To risk his life like he did."

"I love him too. He's my brother." Yuan told her and he wondered if she could understand that he and Kratos were more than simply brothers, though they were. Could she understand what it was to be an –and-someone?

She smiled. "Yes, it shows."

Yuan couldn't tell if she did understand. He wanted to think she did because, somehow, both of the Yggdrasill siblings seemed able to understand and see things that no one else could. "...Was your uncle actually related to you?"

Martel stared at him in confusion. "Why wouldn't he be?"

"'Cause I had a bunch of aunts in my village, but none of them were really related to us. They'd just known my Mama, Zaren and I for so long that they might as well have been. Zaren and I actually grew up learning their names with 'Aunt' tacked on in front."

"That seems strange."

Yuan shrugged. "It's like that for every half-elf I've ever known."

"It's not like that in Heimdall," Martel said. "Family is just who's actually related to you by blood."

"…Were you the only half-elves there?"

"Just about. There were a few others, but…no one liked to talk about any of us. We were like this dirty secret and I think the only reason we were allowed to stay was because my mother was supposed to leave and take us with her at some point."

"Why didn't she?"

"She…she died."

Yuan felt his stomach drop somewhere in the vicinity of his toes. "Martel, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"No, no it's okay." Her smile was wobbly around the edges. "It happened so long ago that it seems rather far away. Mithos was…almost two. It's like a different life."

"…Can I ask what happened to your dad?"

"My uncle said he died of heartbreak. Then he said that that was such a human thing to do and that my mother had rubbed off too much on him."

Yuan had never heard of that, dying from heartbreak. It sounded terrible, more terrible than drowning. "The way your uncle talks, he makes it sound like elves don't feel like everyone else does."

"A lot of them are under the impression that they don't. It's stupid, if you ask me. Of course they feel. But…elves are very proud. They won't admit to anything they consider weaknesses."

"Your friend who taught you magic…did she teach you the constellations?"

"Constellations?" Martel wondered how Yuan had made that mental jump.

"Yeah. Mama told me once," On her best day that Yuan could remember, a good three years before he met Kratos. _(That was how he measured time now, Before Kratos and After Kratos)_ "That the elves have a guiding star."

"Yes, they call it _elesa_."

"In my village, the old men called it _stelat_. But, Mama said that Poppi had shown her a constellation with that star that was supposedly the most beautiful woman ever known."

"Really?"

"Yes." Yuan pointed, carefully drawing out the lines. "You see, there's her eye, her chin?"

"I see her."

"Her name was Glennen, of the golden hair. She was supposed to be the most beautiful mortal and Efreet fell in love with her. But she died of illness and Efreet never wanted to forget her face, so he drew her in the skies so all could admire her."

"I'd never heard that," Martel narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you making this up?"

Yuan laughed. "I promise, I'm not. That's more Kratos' thing anyway."

"He creates stories?"

Yuan froze. It wasn't a secret, really. There was no reason for it to be now that Kratos' father wasn't an issue, but it was something that they'd never really discussed—had no reason to discuss before now—and Yuan wasn't sure whether telling Martel was okay. But it wasn't as if Yuan could take it back now. "Yeah, yeah he does."

"Do you remember any of them?"

Every one. Yuan didn't think he could ever forget anything that Kratos had ever said to him. "I do, but if you want to hear them, you should ask him. He tells stories better anyway."

"Somehow, I find that a little hard to believe and easy to believe at the same time."

Yuan smiled fondly. "Kratos tends to have that effect."

"…Was it a secret? That he creates stories?"

"It was, once. I'm not so sure where it stands now as far as secrets go."

"Would he not want me to know? Let's put it that way."

"I don't think he'd mind, really. He's just not very comfortable around you yet." Kratos was acting much more like the boy that Yuan remembered these days, though the sword remained ever-present at his hip, and he trained every morning, sometimes even with Yuan.

"Me?"

"I think it's more because you're a girl. He hasn't been around girls much, so I think you make him nervous."

"And you? Do I make you nervous?"

Yuan looked at her, pretty in the moonlight. He'd been nervous around girls, but only in the town that they were permitted to visit on the weekends at the military school. And they'd seemed so…different…that Yuan hadn't been sure how to act. But Martel was different in a new way that he was rather okay with.

He shook his head. "Not at all. "

* * *

Kratos was woken from his dozing by Noishe's soft trill. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have fallen asleep when Mithos was left in his care, but Noishe was as good a protector as they came. He glanced over to Mithos, who was curled into his bedroll. Safe. And Noishe wouldn't have made such a subtle sound if there was a real threat, so he raised his eyes to look beyond their camp.

Martel and Yuan were returning from their walk and Kratos greeted them with a sleepy wave. Yuan frowned at him. "Have you been sleeping?"

"I was, actually, before Noishe woke me."

Martel wanted to ask why Kratos had been sleeping when he was supposed to be watching Mithos, but then she glanced at the bird. Seeing him, it was difficult to doubt that Noishe was capable of watching after a sleeping six year old.

When Martel refocused on the boys—for that was still what they were—Yuan was saying something to Kratos about getting enough sleep.

"You're fussing again." Kratos said it with familiar exasperation.

"If you took care of yourself, I wouldn't have to fuss," Yuan said tartly as he took a seat beside his best friend. "And don't act like you don't fuss either."

Martel chuckled as she watched them. They were familiar and strange at the same time. After she sat down across from them, Kratos turned to her. "How was the walk?"

"Quite interesting actually." Kratos saw the way that Yuan leaned back on his hands at those words and that set off vague warning bells in his mind, but he kept focused on Martel.

"Really? Why?"

"Well, I learned a story or two of the constellations."

Kratos smiled. It was the same smile that Yuan had had when he spoke about him. "Yuan is good for that sort of thing."

"I also learned that you're something of a storyteller, Kratos."

She saw the instinctive tensing, saw the way that Kratos hunched in on himself a little and how Yuan seemed to automatically—without any thought at all—move closer, as if to protect him. But Kratos relaxed a minute later, though some of the tension remained in the lines of his shoulders. "I suppose you could say that."

"Would you tell me one someday? One of yours?"

Kratos ducked his head, hiding behind his bangs. Martel smiled at the familiar gesture—Mithos often did the same. "If you really want me to. They're-they're not great…"

Yuan gently pushed his friend's shoulder, but his words were directed at Martel. "Don't let him lie to you. They're amazing."

"Could…could it wait until tomorrow? I'm still half-asleep."

"Of course it can. We've got another three weeks of travel at the very least, remember? That's plenty of time."

Because they're teenagers and young and forever is a wonderful concept.


	37. Acts Rather Than Words

 

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_Most of us, swimming against the tides of trouble the world knows nothing about, need only a bit of praise or encouragement - and we will make the goal.  
~Jerome Fleishman_

 

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They glanced at each other, not quite sure what to do. They'd reached the capital, as promised, but now that they were standing here, they didn't know where to go or who to see.

The capital was in the way of half-elves, rough edges and patchwork buildings built and cleaned up to create a strange, grand portrait. The buildings were flat-topped—something that made Yuan smile because he hadn't seen buildings like that for years. They'd had buildings like that back in his village and they would do their laundry and collect rainwater from the sun-stained roofs—and were more colorful than many would expect.

The city was built on hills and the roads—stone roads, Yuan marveled, in a half-elven town. How alien—sloped with the landscape. There were flowerboxes on the window sills and small gardens in between houses. Tall trees slanted over the city walls and poked out of alley ways. The people were a cacophony of combinations of colors and features. Some more human, others could pass for elven save for a broadness of the brow or the rough scrape of a beard on the cheeks.

The people here had the hardy look of people accustomed to war. Nearly everyone seemed to have some kind of weapon on them, whether it was knife at the belt or an arched sword, perhaps a spear. Even some of the children have small daggers and the older ones keep one eye on the younger ones and the other eye on the newcomers.

"I never imagined it like this," Yuan said quietly, still looking around.

"What did you picture?" Kratos asked, trying to make himself look small on instinct. As a rule, half-elves weren't particularly fond of humans and making himself invisible was easier than it should have been.

"I-I can't remember right now." Yuan glanced at Martel. "Any idea where to go?"

She looked just as uncomfortable as the rest of them. "How should I know? It was you guys' idea to come here."

"Well, we're kind of 'big picture' people." Yuan glanced around. "Let's see if we can't find a place to at least spend the night while we figure out a plan."

* * *

 

The inn was small and there were chickens in the yard that poked and pecked at their feet as they walked by. A goat tethered to a post eyed them as they passed before returning to his grass. The building was painted the gray of ashes with streaks of charcoal black over where, once, it might have been a pale, inviting pink.

There were two women at the desk—one of whose feet was kept up by a thick book and Yuan wanted to both smile at the look on Kratos' face at the use of a book and lament with him. One of the women was older, not that it was entirely visible save for a few stray lines around her eyes and mouth. Her hair was still black as night and her eyes sharp.

The other woman—girl, really. She couldn't be much older than Yuan and Kratos—had the same dark hair, but her eyes were bright silver, not of blindness, but the simple color, and her skin was rather pale compared to the others that they'd seen in the city, whose skins were browned by long hours in the sun.

The girl smiled at them. "Welcome, travellers. You'll be needin' a room, I take it?"

Yuan returned the smile almost automatically. "Yes, please. But, uh…"

"You don't got no money." Yuan stopped himself from correcting her grammar, but only just and he knew Kratos had done the same.

"We're willing to work," Martel told her. "All of us."

Before the girl could say anything more, the older woman—her mother?—said, "Don't bother, Delia."

Delia frowned. "Why, mam? 'S only fair."

"They got themselves a human." Her mother said the word like humans would say 'half-breed' and everyone would say cockroaches. "We don't got no rooms for that kind and no blood traitors neither."

Yuan bristled. "Blood traitors?"

"Aye. Humans are to blame for our husbands dyin' in the battlefields and for our sons comin' back with missin' arms and legs, if they come back at all."

"No, you're to blame for that." Martel stared at him, as did Kratos and Mithos. "They don't have to go. Yes, there was a draft, but if you felt that strongly about it, there were ways around it."

Kratos settled a hand on his best friend's shoulder. "Yuan," he said quietly. "We should go."

Yuan opened his mouth to continue ranting, but then he saw the look on Kratos' face and snapped his mouth shut, nodding. But he didn't leave before shooting a dirty look over his shoulder at Delia and her mother.

"I don't get it," Yuan snarled under his breath. "You didn't do anything to 'em."

Kratos' eyes looked ancient again, looked sad and too understanding. "Just like you hadn't done anything to us, but they made you slaves anyway."

Martel's breath caught. Yuan? A slave? Neither of them had never mentioned it.

"But they're not wrong," Mithos piped up. "Humans hurt us."

Yuan rounded on the boy. "Yes, they hurt us, but not all of them. Most of them don't even know what's going on. You shouldn't blame everyone for what only a few people are doing."

Mithos blinked slowly at him, not in confusion, but in processing. "…So what do you plan to do about it?"

"Right now? Stew it over, looks like," Kratos said and Martel looked at him, surprised. How could he be so accepting of the words that had been spat at him, of the accusations?

"Don't act so unaffected," Yuan snapped at him.

"You can't do this every time someone says a bad word towards me," Kratos told him, an undercurrent of a temper that Martel hadn't known he'd had tingeing the words.

"So, what? I'm supposed to just let it go?"

"You can't change the world like this, Yuan. Stop trying."

The half-elf frowned at his best friend, for the first time not understanding what had prompted these thoughts. But perhaps something in him sensed that, right now, a fight wasn't what Kratos needed. "C'mon, kid. Let's find a place to sleep for the night."

* * *

 

Martel and Kratos sat themselves on an abandoned house's doorstep. There wasn't much room—particularly for Kratos' larger body—but they managed to get settled comfortably enough.

"What's wrong, Kratos?" she asked, leaning her staff carefully against the wall. "I've never seen you and Yuan like this before."

"…The first few times it happened, I wanted to think that, maybe, it was just these half-elves. Not all of them." He looked up quickly at her, apology and traces of panic on his face. "Of course, it's still not all of them."

Martel waved away his apology. "I get it. Keep going."

"But I guess I thought that, here, in the capital, things would be a little different. I didn't expect them to trust me, or to like me, but I thought that maybe…"

"They'd be willing to try?" Martel suggested.

"Yeah." Kratos leaned his forearms on his thighs. "…Yuan keeps trying to pick a fight with the whole world and he still thinks he can win."

"And you think he can't."

"People don't change just because of words, Martel. You know that."

She shifted uncomfortably. Kratos looked, suddenly, too old and jaded to be the boy she knew. And he was right, she did know that. How had he known that he would find an ally in her, of all people? "Maybe not words, but I think—or, I like to think—that actions change people."

"So you're saying it's the act of speaking up for equality rather than the actual words?"

Martel noted how he said 'equality' and not 'humans' rights'. It seemed significant somehow. "I think so. I mean, the people here, I don't think they're used to seeing humans outside of the battlefield and, honestly, that sword isn't helping."

"I need to be able to protect myself," Kratos said and she knew that it was more about defending others than himself, but Kratos still had some of that boyish pride that wouldn't allow him to say that. "I don't have magic like you guys and I'm useless at hand-to-hand."

"I know. I'm just telling you it from their point of view."

Kratos stilled and Martel could almost see him withdrawing back into himself. "…Is that your point of view too?"

"You want the honest answer?"

He nodded, as she'd known he would. Kratos had such a strange sense of honesty.

"It was. And it still kind of is. I look at you and I see all the humans that've hurt me and Mithos before." He opened his mouth to tell her why, exactly he wasn't like those humans and she continued soothingly, "I _know_ that you aren't like that. I know that, but something in me won't let it go. I want to, especially after seeing you and Yuan and even you with Mithos. He trusts you so much already."

"Let me guess, you don't think I should give up on the whole equality thing."

"I think you'd hate yourself if you did."

His eyes—that strange red-brown, lacking the slant to their shape like those of any elven blood—flashed to her. The next minute, he chuckled and ran a hand through his tangled hair. "You know me too well."

"Hey! Martel! Kratos!" Both turned at the childish voice to see the blonde child running and skidding through the sloping streets towards them, Yuan's blue head not far behind. "You'll never guess who we found!"

Martel stood, dusting off the seat of her skirt and grabbing her staff before extending a hand to Kratos. "Shall we?"

He smiled and took her hand. "You are surprisingly persuasive."

Martel laughed. "Call it my feminine wiles."


	38. Ifs and Maybes

* * *

 

_"Life's too damn short for ifs and maybe's."_

_-Mal **(Firefly)**_

* * *

 

Kratos stared at the old man. "What're you doing here?"

The old man arched a white eyebrow. "Is that how you greet everyone, boyo? No wonder these half-elves don't trust you." He gave him a once over. "I thought you'd be filling out more. Well. At least _you_ got taller."

"Just 'cause I haven't hit the growth spurt yet…" Yuan's voice continued on into mutterings that made Mithos smother a laugh.

"You didn't answer the question," Kratos said, still in shock. Besides the location, the old man looked…different. Cleaner, almost, though his silver hair was still tied back in a tail. He wore robes now, black with thin, blue bands along the hems. The collar had the same design, but thicker and beneath the robes, Kratos could still see a rather wicked looking knife on his belt.

"First, I have to greet the young lady. You would deny me my manners?" He turned to her. "Mithos has told me much about you."

Martel smiled and shook his hand. "It's strange. He's usually the one with all the manners."

"That one, I'll give you, but he tends to be single-minded when he needs answers." He released her hand and said, "Walk with me, all of you, and I'll explain on the way."

They had to walk faster than they were accustomed to keep up with his long strides. "Where to begin?"

"Why were you in the military school?" Yuan asked.

"That's a good place, I suppose. I was there because I am a spy for the half-elven army."

"But you're an elf," Kratos said, frowning. "Why help them?"

"I don't agree with my people's belief that they're so removed from the world that this war has nothing to with them. It's ridiculous. Of course it has to do with us. We're part of the world as well. And so I came here to help."

"Why'd you agree to help me then?" Kratos asked. "I'm one of the people you were spying against."

The old man looked back and his eyes seemed to look right through Kratos. "In truth? It was because of Yuan. He defended you to the point where I had to believe him."

Kratos glanced at his best friend, who just grinned, sheepishness coloring the corners of his lips. "Someone had to do it for you."

Kratos smiled back and Martel marveled at the things not said, but still understood.

"So you're here again?"

"Yes. I had enough information to do some good again."

"Sometimes, I think you just wanted to stay away from us longer." They all looked up at the speaker. She wasn't beautiful, not in classical terms. Her heart-shaped face was too hard and lean for that. But she had curves and her arms were toned with muscle. Her hair was cut boyishly short and was the color of sand. The length of it was enough to show the ears that tapered to an elegant point, as opposed to Yuan, Martel and Mithos' rougher triangles.

She too wore robes, though hers had slimmer sleeves and were shorter so that they hit her at about her knees as opposed to the calf like the old man's. Her sleeves were also black, but they were hemmed in pale silver and gold thread and there was a moon and a spiral horn stitched on the back.

"Such a pleasure to see you again, Myra."

"And you, silver tongue." Myra's eyes swept over the others. "And these are?"

"You recall the boys I told you of?"

Myra's eyes snapped to Kratos and Yuan, who immediately took an instinctive step back at the sharp blue eyes. "These are them?"

"Absolutely."

"And the other two?"

"They're friends of ours," Yuan said, finding his voice. "We travel together."

"Of that, I have no doubt. Your names?"

"I'm Yuan, this," the half-elf gave Kratos' shoulder a push, forcing him to take a step forwards. "Is Kratos, and Martel is Mithos' older sister."

"I see." Myra looked closer at Martel and Mithos. "Those are elven names."

"We were raised in Heimdall."

Myra's feathery eyebrows arched. "A rarity, to be certain. Elves aren't fond of half-bloods. I'm Myranda, the head Healer here."

"You're a Healer?" Mithos asked, having to look up at her. Myranda was very tall for a woman.

"Did I not just say that?"

"Could you teach my sister then?"

"Mithos!" Martel shushed, embarrassed.

Mithos blinked innocent blue eyes up at her. "What? You always wanted to learn more about Healing. Here's your chance."

"Do you know any of the Healing arts, Martel?"

"Some. Not much more than the basics."

"We'll speak later to see how much you need to learn. As for you," Myra turned to Kratos, who swallowed. "The people here don't take kindly to humans. I'm sure you already know. That means you're going to have to either show them that they could be wrong, or just suffer in silence because we have no room for whining here."

"Um, yes ma'am."

Myra blinked at him. "You're one of the real polite ones, aren't you?" She rounded on the old man. "You've rubbed off on him too much, Alstan."

Alstan raised his hands in innocence. "He was like that when I met him."

Noishe twisted his head around from where he'd been mostly hidden behind Kratos to nip at his fingers, a sign that he was getting hungry. Kratos turned and stroked his neck. "We'll get food soon. Try and be patient."

"Boy—Kratos—"

The human blinked up at Myra. "Yes?"

"That bird, you're speaking to it?"

"Y-yes?"

"Are you aware that that is a protozoan?" Kratos nodded and Noishe trilled, stepping out from behind him to cock his head curiously at Myra. "Among the elves, protozoans are considered beasts of the gods."

Kratos stared at Noishe, who stared right back, gently nipping at the human's nose. "If you say so."

"They are the symbol for change among my people."

"That makes sense," Yuan said, running his hand down Noishe's smooth back. "He was a fish when I met him."

Myra stared at the boys, who acted so casually with the protozoan. She had grown up learning that protozoans were protectors of the world as the unicorns were the caretakers of it. That such a creature would be with such ordinary people…or, perhaps, not so ordinary.

"Wait so," Yuan said. "What happens to us now?"

"Now? Now you're going to be helping us out."

"So, we're in the army?"

"As of right now, no. You're all far too untrained for that. But you're helping anyway."

"Do we have a choice?" Kratos asked. He'd rather not fight in the war at all and he was fairly sure that Yuan felt the same.

"It's either help us or go back to trying to find a place for the four of you in this city, which I can almost guarantee is impossible."

"So…no."

"Welcome unofficially to the army, boyo."

* * *

 

"Why the long face?" Alstan asked, leaning against the doorframe of the room that the boys had been assigned. Yuan and Mithos were currently in Martel's room in the next building.

"I never wanted to fight in the war."

"But here you are?"

"Mm."

"You don't have to fight."

"Then what am I doing here?"

"Supporting your best friend. And you can still help out quite a bit without having to fight."

"How's that? The half-elves, they don't want me anywhere near them. To them, I'm the monster that they tell their kids about to keep them off the streets at night."

"True. But you know what the first thing I knew about you was?"

"What?"

"That you could rise above that." Kratos frowned in confusion. "Yuan may not have told you, but when I met him, he spoke of nothing but how you deserved to learn swordsmanship properly and how I should teach you. Yuan has never seemed the type, to me, that was very good at following orders or any of the things that make a slave. And he admitted to me that he hated most humans for what they'd done to his village.

"And yet, there he was, defending you. I don't think either of you yet realize how extraordinary your friendship is. You taught him to read, Kratos. That's an incredible thing to do for someone you don't really know, or that you didn't really know at the time. That's how I know that you can change the way these people think of humans, if only a little bit."

"They won't trust me enough to try."

"Show them."

_So you're saying it's the act of speaking up for equality rather than the actual words?_

"You sound a lot like Martel."

"You should listen to her. Women are smarter than you know."

"…Yessir."

"And, as a suggestion, you can give these people more than simply another swordarm. You can teach their children to read and write, to think for themselves. Those are rare things in this city, believe me. We've been trying to change it, but it's difficult. You, I think, will have more luck."

"Because I'm human?"

"Because you love it. You love teaching, I can tell."

Kratos sat in silence for a long time after Alstan left, thinking it over. He did love to teach, loved seeing the eyes light up and the smile when understanding clicked, loved sharing his love for knowledge. But he was good at the sword, was good at fighting, even if he didn't want to be.

"Stop thinking so loud," Yuan said, gently knocking his knuckles on Kratos' forehead. "I could hear you down the hall."

"Where's Mithos?"

"With his sister, naturally. So, what is it?"

"I want to be a scholar, or a teacher. Something like that."

"Uh-huh."

"But I'm good at being a warrior." Thanks to his father's blood, his father's talent having been passed on.

"Except for, y'know, the whole courage thing."

Kratos rolled his eyes, even as his lips quirked into a smile to match Yuan's. "Yeah, except for that. So what do I do? What do I become?"

Yuan stretched out on his bed, propping his head up on his hand. "I don't see any reason why you can't be both. Scholars and warriors aren't exactly exclusive to each other."

"You think?"

"Yeah. You could even be like those monks in the mountains. The ones that we read about in the library. They were warriors and scholars."

Kratos smiled, unable to help it. "…True. I don't wanna shave off my hair though."

Yuan looked him over appraisingly. "Yeah. Bald is not a good look for you."

"I hope not." Kratos laughed before sobering. "…I'm sorry. About earlier."

Yuan waved it away. "'S fine. I was being stupid too."

"…Even if I were to be a teacher here, I don't think the parents would want their kids being taught by a human."

"Of course they will. Once they get to know you, of course."

"You think so?"

Yuan snorted. "Kratos, it's really hard to stay angry at you."

"Speaking from experience?"

Yuan could hear the smirk and lobbed his pillow in Kratos' general direction, and grinned smugly to himself when he heard the squawk of surprise.

* * *

 

"They had a protozoan with them," Myra said quietly, her hands on her mug of spiced tea.

"Yes. From my understanding, Kratos had it as a pet fish before it evolved last year."

"A pet?" Myra repeated. "Such a creature, a boy's pet? It's blasphemy!"

"'Protozoans are protectors'," Alstan quoted. He had grown up learning it as often as she had. "Perhaps the boys needed protecting."

"Or it's protecting the world from them," Myra pointed out. "You might not see it because you trained them, but Yuan and Kratos have the potential to be so powerful. I hate to think of what might happen if they went down the wrong path. They're dangerous by themselves. Together? I think they could take on the world. And they'd win, most likely."

Alstan smiled to himself as he picked apart a roll so that he could butter it. "Yes, I did see that."

"And that's not even considering that boy—Mithos. I saw potential in him too."

"For what?" he asked curiously. Myra had a sharp eye for talent.

"He's a child. You know how they are—they retain information like a sponge with water. And with those two as friends and possible teachers? He'd be a magic swordsman to rival you. Possibly even surpass you."

"Isn't that the point of the new generations? To surpass the old?"

"I think he's too singleminded. Too focused."

"I thought you would be the first to say that there is no such thing."

"I would have, before I met him. You saw it, didn't you? He revolves around that sister of his."

"From what I've been told, Martel is all he has left in the way of family. Naturally he would grow attached to her."

"The boy's impetuous too. You saw him."

"He's a _boy_ , Myra. Boys tend to be impetuous and stubborn. Most of the time, they grow out of it. And you should wait to get to know them _all_ better before you make any more judgments."

"Fine, but I don't think I'm wrong."

"No, you never do."


	39. Being Sure

* * *

 

 _Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh!" he whispered._  
"Yes, Piglet?"  
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. "I just wanted to be sure of you."  
~A.A. Milne

* * *

 

"Did you know that using magic hurts after a while?"

Kratos looked over at where Yuan had let himself fall onto his cot. "Really?"

Yuan groaned a yes. "According to the mages, the mana in our bodies will eventually stop coming when we try for magic because it needs to be used for other bodily functions. Like keeping us alive."

"They pushed you that far?" Kratos asked, frowning. He was stretched out on his stomach, letting his muscles rest. Training had made him ache in places he hadn't known could ache.

"Apparently, it's supposed to be like any other training. The more you do it, the more your body gets used to it and can do the action longer." Yuan sounded like he was reciting more or less word for word, which he probably was. The half-elf turned his head to look at Kratos. "How was your day?"

Kratos wrinkled his nose.

"That bad, huh?" Yuan said sympathetically.

"The training is fine, but…everyone keeps looking at me like they're waiting for me to go on a rampage and eat their children or something."

"Everyone?"

"Everyone."

"…I think that maybe they don't know what to say."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that they didn't know you when you were ten and tiny, Kratos. And while I don't think you're ever going to be very intimidating, to them, you are. I mean, you're taller than most of them—for once—and humans are naturally…thicker? I guess that's the word. Yeah, you guys are just built bigger than elves and half-elves." Yuan suddenly grinned at him. "Not to mention, with that hair of yours, you look like a madman."

Kratos threw a pillow at him, which Yuan caught and stuffed it under his head. "So you're saying that, what, I should make the first move?"

"I'm not sure you're aware of this, but you aren't exactly a people person."

"Then what's your plan, genius?"

"I'm going with you tomorrow."

"You'll miss your magic lesson."

Yuan waved a hand airily. "Details. Besides, you need more help than I do with that magic. It's easy now that I can actually _do_ it. Most of what they teach is theory anyway and I know all that."

Kratos rested his head in his arms, smiling delightedly. It had been strange to not be invisible, even if he'd tried, and Yuan was good at making him relax. "Old man's gonna be pissed."

They still called Alstan the old man, even though they knew his name now. It felt strange otherwise. Some of the half-elves had heard them and they tried calling him that, but he'd given them a swift cuff to the head. Apparently, they were the only ones allowed to call him old man.

"I'll deal with that."

"I meant at both of us."

"You can deal with it too."

Kratos rolled over and laughed. "Thanks for the concern." And he means it, even though neither of them will ever discuss nor acknowledge it.

* * *

 

"Hellsfire, you weren't exaggerating," Yuan muttered.

"Told you so," Kratos muttered right back. "I think they'll believe you if you tell them that I don't like the taste of children though."

Yuan snickered. "Yeah, too chewy."

Kratos rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help smiling.

"If you two are done?" Myra said, throwing them two swords—unsharpened, but still steel—which they caught automatically because the old man used to do that. "There's work to be done."

"Y'know," Yuan said under his breath. "I get the feeling she doesn't like us."

"Maybe it's just you," Kratos suggested as they gave each other enough space to begin sparring. "She never seems to have much of a problem with me."

"I do tend to have that effect on people, don't I?" Yuan watched Kratos, looking for the familiar dropping of his left hand, which was Kratos' only signal before a fight. After all, Kratos was right handed and he only needed one hand to use a sword.

"Occasionally." Kratos saw Yuan watching, saw the subtle, constant shifting in weight and let his hand fall.

They sparred with ferocious ease, Myra noted, steel ringing and sweat rolling down their foreheads because it was horridly hot, even this early in the morning. They were so accustomed to fighting each other that it was automatic to block and counter and parry.

But it shouldn't have been that way, she thought, because their fighting styles were far too different, near opposites _(She tries to forget that that's not the only difference between them)_. Yuan was quick, darting arcs of movement, never in the same place for more than a second. Kratos was control and precise footwork, with his free hand balancing out the sword and sweeping aside incoming blows—He'd be good with a shield, Myra thought distantly and Alstan had taught them well.

But Kratos was human and they grew too fast and awkward and his limbs were too long for his body and he still wasn't used to that, so he stumbled and Yuan seized that opportunity to slip beneath Kratos' guard and knock the sword from his hand.

Other half-elves, Myra knew, would have gone for the neck or, as she suspected because Kratos was still alive, wouldn't have been able to get through Kratos' guard fast enough because Kratos knew better than to let them too close with even a dulled blade.

But now, Yuan was smirking a little and Kratos was smiling through the sweat and picking up his sword. "Well, no one can ever say you're not an opportunist."

Yuan laughed, a sound that reverberated through the small field that they had to practice these sorts of things. "At least you know that if you're going to die, it's because of your own clumsy self."

But Yuan wouldn't let him die even if he did stumble because that was what best friends did for each other and Myra knew that she was spot on about her theories of them. Those two could be far too dangerous.

* * *

 

It started raining sometime during the training and, for a long while, Yuan and Kratos had simply continued sparring because, after nearly a year on the road, you learned to ignore things like weather. Or, weather that wasn't particularly dangerous.

It was when Yuan slipped and skidded in the mud and the wet grass that they noticed and Kratos helped him up before they ran to find a dry place. The closest dry place, coincidentally, was the mess room. Everyone looked up as they ran inside, dripping all over the floor.

Myra sighed—the boys, skilled as they were, were still boys and apparently still stubborn—and pointed to a stack of towels near the door. Kratos-and-Yuan smiled gratefully.

"Hey, Kratos, y'know what?"

"What?" Kratos asked as he ran the towel over himself.

"I think it's raining." Yuan grinned cheekily as Kratos chuckled.

"You should be a detective with those observational skills."

"I told you that the military wasn't my calling."

"You've never said that."

"I thought you could read my mind."

"Sorry, I'm not a telepath." Kratos beckoned Yuan closer and carefully cleaned the mud off of Yuan's forehead and eyebrows and from that tiny space in between his eyes and the bridge of his nose.

"You aren't a telepath? You've lied to me all these years?"

Kratos laughed, even as Yuan play-roughly toweled his hair dry since, according to the half-elf, Kratos can't do it properly. "I mean, look at it. Looks like there should be some baby birds in there or something." Yuan was saying.

"And you're any better?" Kratos asked, amused.

"I think we can both agree that my hair is better than yours."

"If you say so."

* * *

 

"Yuan."

The half-elf turned at his name automatically. He didn't recognize the man who'd called him beyond the vagueness of seeing him in the crowds. "Yeah?"

"This is going to sound a little weird," he began.

"I've probably heard weirder. Go ahead."

"That human…everyone's been talkin' 'bout him. They say he ain't good for us."

"Isn't," Yuan corrected automatically. "Not ain't."

The man looked at him weirdly, but repeated it. "That he isn't good for us. Now, you seem like an honest guy and I've seen you an' that human together."

"What's your point?"

"Is he good for us?"

Yuan smiled. "Absolutely."

"He's a human though."

"I've known him for almost seven years now. Trust me, Kratos is a good guy."

"He doesn't talk to any of us. A lot of the guys are thinkin' that he hates us."

Yuan chuckled. "Trust me when I say that he doesn't. Hard as it may be to believe, Kratos isn't really a brave guy when it comes to new people."

"So…what you're saying is that he's alright?"

"Yes, he's alright. He's not going to kill you guys, he's not a spy. He's a refugee, just like most of us."

The man nodded. "We'll trust your opinion."

* * *

 

The half-elves were still hesitant around him, still weren't quite sure where they stood in terms of the human in their midst, but slowly, they started becoming acclimated to him. Particularly when they saw other half-elves so comfortable around him.

It had originally been just Yuan. But then there was that woman, Martel, who would sometimes come out to have lunch with him. Or the sunbright boy, Mithos, who the human would adjust his grip on the sword and his footing and steadily coach him.

More of the half-elves were willing to spar with Kratos, who, beyond the ducked heads and the strangely proper and polite speech, turned out to be rather good at fighting. And they proved good opponents, or so he told them with tired smiles.

"Not so impossible, is it?" Martel said as Kratos accompanied her to the market. Yuan and Mithos were both studying with the mages today. "For them to trust you, I mean."

"You were right, Martel."

"You are so good at telling a girl what she wants to hear." She laughed then, at the expression on his face before he joined in. Kratos still wasn't very good at the girl thing, but he was more comfortable with her now and didn't stutter or duck his head. Most of the time anyway.

"How are the lessons with Myra?"

"Rather good, actually. I…I didn't know how much reading went into Healing."

Kratos frowned at her. He knew Martel could read, but… "Are you having trouble?"

"Some. It's a lot of material and once I'm finished, I can't remember the first things I read."

"Yuan or me—I," Kratos corrected himself without thinking. He did that a lot, Martel noticed. "Can help you if you need it."

"…Mithos wants to learn to fight like you do, Kratos."

He studied her. "Do you not want him to?"

"I think he's too young to be learning to fight. He's only six. Well, seven soon. But the point is still there." Martel absentmindedly brushed a hand against fabrics as they passed a tailor's shop. "None of us should have had to learn."

Kratos agreed, but, privately, he couldn't imagine his father as anything else but a military man and he knew that he would not have grown up learning anything else. "We can't change what's already happened."

"No, we can't. Kratos…if you can, could you not teach Mithos? At least until—"

"Until your say-so. Got it."

Martel blinked at him. She hadn't thought it would be so easy, considering how strongly Kratos was about being able to fight to protect himself when he actually wanted to learn it to protect others. Surely he saw how similar he and Mithos were?

"He won't like it," Kratos told her. "He's stubborn, your brother."

"What do you want me to do? I'm supposed to protect him and letting him learn to fight so they'll send him out to go fight is _not_ protecting him."

Kratos didn't back away at the slight flare of her temper. That was something that Martel appreciated. However unsure Kratos was around her, he took her anger—however mild it was—in stride. "I know. I'm just telling you that you won't be able to protect him forever. And Mithos is too smart for his own good. He'll want independence before he's ready for it."

"And you know this from experience?"

"There were kids like that at the military school."

"Mm." Martel hesitated. "I-I'm not very good at this. At being a mother instead of a sister. I don't know how to do it since our mother died when we were so young."

"My opinion might not count since I never knew my mom, but I think you do a pretty good job. Besides…I think that Mithos prefers you as a sister rather than a mom."

"I hope so. I'm not ready to be a mother."

"If you were, you'd be some kind of saint or something." Kratos stopped at a fruit stall, drawn by the sight of oranges and pomegranates. They hadn't had fresh fruit for a long time.

"I'm no saint. Not anymore than you are, anyway." Martel picked up an apple, turning it this way and that to inspect it. "…Can we afford these?"

They were paid by the military—it was a pittance, but it was money. "If not, then we'll just have to skimp a bit 'til next month." Kratos smiled at her and bought some of each fruit. Yuan, he thought, would like to eat pomegranates again.


	40. Chivalry

* * *

 

_Unselfish and noble actions are the most radiant pages in the biography of souls._   
_~David Thomas_

* * *

 

They're woken by the sounds of scrambling and stomping. Mithos was the first one completely awake and the candle by the door was lit with a word from the liquid-sounding language of magic—and the elves, or so Kratos has been told.

They blinked at each other in the flickering candlelight, Kratos fumbling for his sword.

"The hell's going on out there?" Yuan wondered aloud, throwing off the sheets and padding to the door.

"We have to see if Martel's okay," Mithos said, blonde hair bright in the dimness as he tried to slip past Yuan, who caught him by the collar.

"Hold it, boyo. We have to make sure it's safe for us first. We won't do her any good if we're hurt."

Yuan poked his head out of the door, the mana rising to his fingertips, ready to do damage if the humans had come, if they tried to take any of them as slaves again _(he's not the same boy he was then, he can fight now…they won't take him…he won't let them…)_

But there was no ringing of swords, no shouting to awaken and no calls to arms. Seeing that, Yuan let go of Mithos, who was immediately dashing down the hall to his sister's room. He could feel Kratos at his back, sword most likely still in hand.

"It's fine," Yuan told him. "But something's still going on out there."

Mithos' voice echoed down the hall. "Martel ain't here!"

Yuan-and-Kratos were immediately running to him, looking in the room even though they knew that Mithos wouldn't have said that unless he was absolutely sure. There was a girl running past them and Yuan caught her arm.

"Hey, sorry about this, but can you tell us where Martel is?"

"Martel?" There were a lot of people in this city, and it wasn't surprising that she didn't know where Martel was because they're new and more than a little wary of cityfolk. But they need an answer now because this was Martel and she could be missing or hurt or—"She got called down to help the refugees."

"Refugees?" the three of them repeated.

"Yeah. They come every now 'n then. Humans ain't stopped invadin' us yet, so there's gonna be refugees." The girl twisted her way free of Yuan's arm and hurried down the hall.

* * *

Martel carefully finished stitching the man's eyebrow. Magic could do a great many things, but when there were this many refugees, she wanted to save her magic for those that really need it. "Is all of your family here?"

"Most," the man said and he sounded half-broken and fragile. "I think. Hell, I dunno. Everythin' was so…confusin' and it took everythin' just to keep an eye on my boy." He moved to get up, but Martel gently but firmly pushed him back down. "My boy—where is he? I can't—"

She smiled reassuringly. "I promise, he's alright. He wasn't hurt, but he was really tired, so we've got him resting in a different tent. As soon as I'm done with you, you can see him, alright?"

"Thank you, Lady." He sat calmly as she broke the string and dabbed some antiseptic on the cut. As Martel turned her back to find the cap for the antiseptic, she heard the stool he was sitting on clatter to the ground and suddenly, the air was nearly electric with tension. "The hell is one of _them_ doing here?"

Martel whipped her head around to see her boys—all three of them were hers now, in the same way that she was theirs—standing just at the entrance to the tent, Yuan's hand holding the flap open.

"One of what?" Yuan growled.

"Those murderin' _humans_ is what."

Kratos took a step back, hand well away from his sword and up in front of him in the universal sign of innocence. He was in sleep pants, apparently not having had the chance to grab a shirt, and he looked skinny and pale in the strange mixture of candle, moon and witchlight that illuminated the area.

As soon as Martel saw the man take a threatening step forward, she was immediately between them. "I didn't just patch you up to have to heal you again."

The man snarled at her and pushed her roughly aside. Yuan and Mithos immediately leapt forward, but Kratos grabbed Mithos around the middle.

"He's triple you size," Kratos reminded the boy. "And you can't set him on fire."

"He pushed my sister," Mithos said angrily, but couldn't make Kratos let go. "And what's Yuan's excuse? He's double his size too!"

Yuan was indeed fighting the man, or rather, trying not to get hit. Fast as Yuan was, he was also rather small.

"Double is a lot less than triple," Kratos said, wincing as he heard a crash. There went the table.

"Dammit," Yuan cursed as he distracted the man away from Kratos again. "What're you goin' after Kratos for anyway? He didn't do nothing to you!"

"Humans are all the same! Don't you get that?" The man flung Yuan across the tent easily. He looked down at the fallen half-elf, who was trying to struggle back to his feet. Kratos searched for injuries, relieved when he couldn't see any blood. Bruises would be there, naturally, but bruises weren't too bad. The man glanced between Yuan and Kratos. "'Course you don't. You're one of them blood traitors, sympathizing with the monsters."

"Monsters?" Kratos repeated. "The humans didn't start this! And neither did the half-elves! It's no ones' fault."

"He's right," Yuan said, finally standing.

"That what you believe, boy?" Yuan ducked one of his fists, but he couldn't dodge the other one that cracked across his face, sending him sprawling. "You think this human wouldn't kill you the minute you weren't useful to him no more?"

The man's sleeve had slipped back and Kratos caught sight of numbers tattooed on his forearm, stark black against his skin. Kratos glanced back up at the man's face. "You were a slave, weren't you?"

"Do you have an issue with that, human?"

Kratos ignored the question. "How'd you get free?"

"Want to tell all your buddies so they'll block off the exits?"

"Hey, he escaped with me," Yuan said hotly, wiping at his split lip. "So get off your damn high horse, sit your ass back down and listen to the Healers!"

"And what're you going to do if I don't?"

"Don't even say it, Yuan." Everyone whipped around to see Myra and Alstan standing just outside the tent. Yuan swallowed the smart remark—the two really knew him far too well. "As for you," Myra's sharp eyes went to the man. "We understand you've been through a tough time, but you're going to either have to suck it up or get out of here because we don't have room for extremists here. We're trying to fix the problem, not make it worse."

The man shut up—wisely so. Yuan was beginning to think that no one was stupid—or courageous—enough to brave Myra's temper. And certainly not Alstan's with it.

"Aurion." Kratos looked up, not shrinking back as he usually did when people called him by his last name. "You best get back on up to bed."

"But-"

"We appreciate the concern, but right now, a human's just going to make thing's worse."

"So, because I want to help, I'm getting kicked back to where I can't do _anything_?" Kratos said and Yuan decided that he'd been wrong. It was ironic—in the strangest and most alien of ways—that Kratos would be the one person to be brave enough to stand up to them. Or, because it was Kratos, it could just be stupidity. "That's not the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, but it's one of the top ten!"

"Aurion, this is your one warning. You speak like that to me again—"

"Myra." It was all Alstan had to say and she quieted, watching him and Yuan wondered if he'd taught her too, once upon a time. "I can tell you from experience that, if he gets this stubborn, then there's no arguing with him. Kratos, since you're so eager to help, the women's tent needs a few extra hands."

Kratos winced. "They're going to be crying, aren't they?"

"Either help the crying women or don't help at all."

Kratos almost backed off. He hated tears. He never had any idea what to do with them. "…Alright."

"Get going then."

Kratos glanced back at the others, lingering at Yuan and his bleeding lip and nose and he knows that his best friend's face was going to be rather colorful tomorrow. Yuan waved him away and Mithos was slipping out from under Kratos' arm. "Alright."

* * *

"…I'm fine, y'know. He didn't hurt me," Martel said, dabbing at his split lip with a rag. He'd told her that he could take care of himself, but she could get as stubborn as Kratos when she wanted to.

"'S not the point. You're not supposed to touch a lady like that." He remembered Poppi telling him that once as they'd sat in the shade, looking out at their little village.

Martel's lips tilted a little in a smile. "I'm not a lady. I'm me."

"Even more reason."

"For the record," Martel said, gently cleaning the blood away from his nose. "I don't think that getting into fights with refugees is going to make the half-elves look any kinder on you and Kratos." Because even strangers could see how close they were.

"He pushed you. Seemed like the thing to do." Yuan paused. "Why are you making this so complicated?"

"Oh, I'm the one making it complicated?"

"Look, Martel, I actually thought that I was helping to defend your…honor…or whatever it's called. I didn't do that to prove some kind of point."

"Calm down, will you?" Martel brushed his bangs out of his face, checking for any more cuts. "I _am_ grateful, you know, for trying to defend me, even if I didn't want you to."

Yuan looked up at her. She was close enough now that he could count her eyelashes and the freckles on her nose. "…I probably should've stayed out of it. I only made the situation worse."

"He would've gone for Kratos anyway. Besides," Martel said, smiling. "If you _hadn't_ jumped in, I would've wondered who had taken over your body."

Yuan laughed. "Mithos was ready to defend you too."

"Sometimes I think Mithos should've been born first. He's as protective as an older brother."

"Well someone's got to keep an eye on you. Otherwise you'd be off…gallivanting with boys at all hours of the night." Yuan flashed grin as Martel rolled her eyes.

"Yes. We're going to go out and paint the town."

"I hope you're a good artist. Otherwise this town's going to look just like my ribs are feeling." Yuan winced a little.

"You want me to take a look?"

"No, no. I'm alright. I've had worse falling out of trees back home."

"If you say so. Now I have to track down my brother and make sure he didn't decide to go cause more trouble around here. Myra set him to work with the other kids and…"

"He's not good with other kids, right?" Yuan smiled at the look on her face. "You think I could've known Kratos all these years and not recognize someone who's not comfortable around people their own age?"

Martel laughed as she stood, sounding like a silver bell. "True enough. As for you, go to _bed_ , alright? Healer's orders."

"Yes ma'am."

Martel bent and lightly kissed his cheek. "Thank you. For having a really crazy idea of chivalry."


	41. Chapter 41

* * *

 

_Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive._   
_~Anäis Nin_

* * *

 

The war had steadily been getting worse. Recently, there had been reports of a new weapon that the humans were developing, one that could annihilate towns. Even if the reports were false, soldiers were constantly coming back wounded more severely than ever.

Martel muttered a spell over a man's shoulder, which had nearly been sliced clean through and watched as the flesh knit itself back together. Myra was a stern teacher, but a good one and she'd been learning much.

_"You're a natural Healer," Myra told her. "It's why you're picking it up so quick. Even if no one had ever taught you, Healing magic would've worked its way into your life."_

But she had never thought that she'd be here, in a tent in the lower reaches of the city, patching up soldiers, reattaching limbs and holding their insides where they were supposed to be while another Healer put him back together.

"Martel." She turned automatically towards her little brother's voice, quiet in the strange half-stillness of the medical tent. He'd grown so much in the last year and a half—Mother Luna, he would be eight in four months. Where had the time gone? Or so it seemed to her. He was taller than her waist now and he'd chopped his hair short in frustration one morning so it hardly brushed the tips of his ears. "You need sleep. And food."

"I'm fine, Mithos," she assured him. "I need to tend to my patients."

Mithos rolled his eyes—he had been around Kratos and Yuan far too long, she thought with a mental smile—and grabbed her wrist. "C'mon."

"Mithos—my patients," Martel protested weakly as he half-dragged her outside.

"They can live without you for a few hours. Hard as it is to believe, you're not the only Healer here."

Martel smiled wryly at him. "Yuan's rubbed off on you."

"Yeah, well at least _he's_ got the common sense to stop and eat once in a while." Mithos shoved a roughly made sandwich in her hands. "Don't move. I'm going to find you some tea or something."

Martel chuckled and took a seat. Her brother had a mule's stubbornness when he wanted to—something that both Yuan and Kratos had assured her that he'd probably learned from her. She took a bite from the sandwich, sighing in relief. She'd been working so hard that she hadn't realized it, but Martel had been on her feet, without stopping for food, since this morning. The sun had long ago sunk beneath the horizon.

"It's not tea, but it's better than nothing," Mithos said, holding out a canteen.

Martel accepted the water gratefully, washing down the sandwich. "Have you eaten?" Had she been so wrapped in being a Healer that she'd forgotten to be a sister?

"I'm fine. _I_ have some shred of common sense left."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "When was the last time you ate?"

"An hour ago."

"Oh really? And who, exactly, dragged you from those books of yours?"

Mithos flushed and Martel made a triumphant sound. He'd been immersed in the tomes of magic that the mages had given him for weeks. Mithos had already declared himself more than useless at Healing—something about how his mana had too much zing in it. Martel hadn't fully understood, unable to see magic in the way that Mithos and a few others here could. She could only sense its presence, could feel its flow—but he seemed to have a knack for every other kind of magic. And no one was willing to allow Mithos to get anywhere near a battlefield, so he was stuck with the mages.

"The cook. She came to check if one of the mages was still in there—'parently, he spends a lot of his mealtimes there and then she was horrified that I hadn't eaten supper yet, so…"

"Where's Noishe?" Kratos and Yuan had been sent out to help with the fighting and Noishe had been torn between staying and going—after all, Mithos and Martel were his to be protected too—but Yuan and Kratos had glanced at each other, having another one of their wordless conversations, before telling him to stay with the Yggdrasill siblings.

Mithos blinked and looked around. "Dunno. He was followin' me all day, except when I was inside—that's when he likes to go check on you—but I don't know where else he'd go."

Martel felt something in her stomach drop. There were only two other people that Noishe would go to. She stood abruptly and started walking quickly towards the entrance. "Come on, Mithos."

He jogged up to her, slightly confused. "Where're we going?"

"I'm willing to bet that Kratos and Yuan are back."

Martel knew that, if she were to look at her brother, she would be able to see the pieces click together in his eyes, on his face. "So soon?

"That's what worries me." Martel lifted her skirts, relishing the ability to really stretch her legs and _run_. Most half-elven women didn't much care about ladylike behavior and such things, but Martel had been raised among the elves and things like that tended to stick.

She could hear Mithos on her heels as they sprinted through the streets of the lower city, searching for a flash of blue hair or the wide berth that the half-elves still gave Kratos. She only stopped when she didn't hear Mithos' loud steps behind her.

"Mithos?" Martel turned to see him staring at a crowd gathered in front of a medical tent. "What is it?"

"I can see Kratos."

Martel frowned and craned her head to try and see over the crowd. Mithos was so much smaller than she was; how could he see anything? "Where?"

"Inside. He's…" Mithos' nose wrinkled as he tried to explain what he saw. "His mana…it's in chaos."

_(Mithos sees mana dance behind his eyelids sometimes. The colors—subtle to neon shades—create dazzling effects. Sometimes, they're so dazzling that they make him sick. And it's only gotten more common the older that he gets)_

"Stay here," Martel instructed. She tried to push her way through the crowd. "'Scuse me, pardon." She managed to get through a few people, but she finally had to tell them that she was Healer and to _please_ let her through.

Her spine froze when she saw Kratos. He was lying on a cot, looking altogether too pale and he was only getting paler. A Healer was working on a gaping wound on his abdomen and it didn't look like it was getting any better.

Martel sought out Yuan, who was standing at the foot of the bed, looking just as pale as Kratos, and so small, even though he'd hit a growth spurt. He looked as afraid as Martel felt. "What happened?"

Yuan jumped a little, eyes wide when they looked at her. He was breathing fast and, for a moment, he didn't recognize her. "…Martel."

"Yeah. Yuan, what happened to Kratos?"

A shaking hand raked through his hair. "We-we didn't see him. He came out of _nowhere_ and his ax was glowin' or something and he got Kratos and he-he won't stop _bleeding_. Didn't know what to do and I-I can't fix it. I can't even _help_." And that would be the worst part for him.

Martel went to the Healer. "Why are his wounds not closed?"

"Because they _won't,_ " the Healer said. "I've tried everything I know and it won't close."

"Stitches?"

"It's too large an area. Look at this. Only other time I've seen this is those weapons that the elves invented a long time ago. The magic ones that do real damage to humans."

"Humans can't use magic," Martel said distractedly, hands pressed to Kratos' stomach, trying to stem the blood flow. Yuan was right—it just wouldn't _stop_.

"They changed it—some kinda magitechnology. Don't think they've worked out the kinks just yet. 'S why it affects humans so bad."

"Elven blood can stop it, right?" Both Healers jerked around to look at Yuan. There was something desperate in his eyes, something that Martel knew could only be part of Yuan-and-Kratos. "The bleeding. You said it was meant to target humans."

"Yes. This sort of injury is treatable in half-elves." The Healer looked down at Kratos, who was shaking and sweating. "He needs a blood transfusion and I know there won't be many volunteers."

Yuan was already striding forward, rolling up his sleeve. "He can take mine."

Even Martel was shocked at the offer. The other Healer gaped at him before recovering. "He might not like that. He won't even be a half-elf, but something in between. A human with elven blood—it's unheard of."

"But he'll live." Any nervousness or trepidation in Yuan was gone; he looked utterly sure of himself.

_(The idea that Kratos might not like elven blood in his veins never enters Yuan's mind because even if Kratos were to hate him after this, at least he'd be alive)_

Martel looked at the other Healer. She didn't have the skill to do a blood transfusion, but the Healer did. "Please do it. If it doesn't work, he's dead anyway."

The Healer sighed. "Alright. You, try and keep his wounds as closed as possible and, boy, you come here. You're going to want to be lying down for this."


	42. Blood Brothers

* * *

 

_Blessed is the servant who loves his brother as much when he is sick and useless as when he is well and can be of service to him. And blessed is he who loves his brother as well when he is afar off as when he is by his side, and who would say nothing behind his back he might not, in love, say before his face.  
~St Francis of Assisi_

* * *

 

She hadn't slept, even though Mithos had tried to get her to. Mithos, who was currently curled up on the floor with Noishe in the tent at the foot of Yuan's bed. It had been a day and a half since the blood transfusion, and neither of them were waking up. Yuan, she knew, was still recovering and trying to get his mana sorted back out. The other Healer had said that he'd woken once, but that he'd passed out almost immediately afterwards.

Martel had been living on stale coffee and whatever meager rations she could find, mostly crackers. Two of her boys weren't waking up and, strange as it was, she wasn't sure what she would do without them.

They hadn't really known each other all that long—a year and some change—but Yuan and Kratos had a way of growing on you. Sweet and charming in their own strange and slightly awkward ways, and they were the first friends that she'd had in a long while. They'd carved their own niches in her life and she knew that nothing else would fit.

She looked up from her empty mug as Kratos stirred. "…Kratos?"

Garnet eyes, cobwebbed with weariness and sleep, half-opened to look at her. "…'Tel."

"Hey," she said softly, moving to sit on the edge of his cot. "How're you feeling?"

He scrunched his nose, which she took to mean 'as well as the situation allowed'. "'Uan?"

He _would_ ask after him after he'd nearly died, Martel thought with fond exasperation. "Yuan's fine. You did cause him a lot of worry though."

Kratos winced. "…We never saw 'im. He came outta nowhere…"

"I know. Yuan told me." Martel hesitated. Kratos didn't hate half-elves, but the circumstances here were quite different. "And…there's something else."

Kratos watched her with that seemingly endless patience of his.

"…That ax that hit you…it was a human magitechnology weapon that they copied off of a weapon that the elves designed. But they couldn't work out all the kinks, so it still affected humans much more than people with elven blood."

"…What're you saying, Martel?"

"You were bleeding out and—there was really no other way to save you and the Healer didn't think it was such a great idea, but Yuan insisted—and so did I, a bit."

"You're rambling," Kratos told her, smiling a little.

"You had to have a blood transfusion." Martel saw the immediate understanding in Kratos' eyes. "Yuan volunteered."

Some distant piece of Martel had half-expected Kratos to rage or panic. He didn't. He went very still and quiet and stared at his hands as though he could see the new traces of mana running through his veins like liquid lightning.

Then he looked up and narrowed his eyes at her. "When was the last time you slept?"

"I'm fine."

"Liar." Kratos could be very blunt when he wanted to be. When it came to fussing over people, Kratos generally wanted to be.

"Someone needed to watch over the two of you."

Martel saw the automatic glance to the side, as if to reassure himself that Yuan hadn't gotten up and left. "Doesn't mean that you shouldn't take care of yourself."

"Go back to sleep, Kratos."

He shook his head, but stopped, wincing with a hand to his abdomen. You never thought about just how often you used those muscles until you couldn't. "No. You need sleep."

"But—"

"Martel, I'm okay," he reassured her. "And I don't really want to go back to sleep right now. I'm kind of bored with sleeping actually. So you go to sleep. You can even have my cot if you like."

"I'm not winning this one, am I?" Because as stubborn as she was—or so the boys had told her—Kratos was even more stubborn.

"Nope."

Martel huffed a chuckle and said, "I'm going to find a blanket."

* * *

 

The first thing Yuan saw when he cracked his eyes open was the rough fabric of the tent above him. It took a fuzzy moment to remember just what had happened and he sat up too quickly, head spinning, but trying to focus on the person in the other cot.

"You're okay." Yuan breathed a sigh of relief, drawing up his knees and touching his forehead to them.

"…You didn't have to do what you did, y'know." Yuan glanced at him, indignation rising up inside him. Didn't have to do it? Of course he did. What would he have done without Kratos? "Martel told me what happened."

"You're an idiot," Yuan told him flatly. "You must've gotten hit harder than I thought if you think that I didn't have to do that. You're my best friend. The _least_ I can do is save your life."

"…I can feel it. The magic. I can feel it now." Kratos understood now what Yuan had been talking about, that itch just beneath the skin that couldn't go away. It was _wonderful_. The mana that those of elven blood had to be able to use magic was distinctly different from human mana and the difference was astonishing. Kratos could feel the infinite possibilities of magic thrumming in his veins.

"It's somethin', isn't it?"

"Mm." Kratos hesitated, the question sounding ridiculous and absolutely impossible in his head. "…Do you think I could learn magic now?"

Yuan grinned roguishly at him. "Of course you can. We're blood brothers now, after all."

Kratos couldn't help but grin back. Maybe there was something to this wishing on stars after all.


	43. Chapter 43

* * *

 

_Deep summer is when laziness finds respectability._   
_~Sam Keen_

* * *

 

It was a stolen moment, really. They were supposed to be picking herbs to bring back to the Healers. And they had, the basket full and sitting on the grass that coated the hills that made up the capital and the surrounding area. But that didn't mean that they weren't going to use this time to their advantage.

At the moment, they were lying on said grass, the powerful noon sun weaving its lethargic spell. Martel dozed and Yuan let her. He knew how little sleep she'd had lately. The war was getting shorter and shorter on Healers as more people were sent out to the front lines. Yuan and Kratos had been sent out to fight too, but they were short missions, never too far from the capital.

The hill that they were currently on was in full sunshine—not that either of them minded. The capital—with its high walls and tall buildings—often seemed too close for them. No room for the sky in there. From here, if Yuan sat up, he could see the capital with its buildings gleaming in the sun, and the nearby river. He could see even farther than that, beyond the hills to where they flattened out to the farmland and the plains. The horizon here was a warm gold-brown color, like healthy wheat.

Noishe was staying with his master, still refusing to leave his side while Kratos healed. Not that there was much left to heal. Healing magic worked much better when the blood could accept the Healing mana easier, or so Martel had tried to explain to him. Everything else was up to him now; letting the muscles recover, making sure the skin didn't become tight around the inevitable scar, doing the stretches that Martel had told him.

"You're thinking too hard," Martel said, voice drowsy from the heat. Her accent—lyrical and lovely—became more pronounced at times like this.

"Can't help it."

"I'll bet, you being such an educated man and all."

Yuan chuckled, and raked his hair out of his face. It was getting long again. "How was your nap?"

"Fantastic. I love this hill." Martel sat up on her elbows, green hair loose from its braid and tangled about her face. "Could you imagine building a house here?"

"Like right where we are?"

"Yeah. Think about it. There's plenty of room for like a garden, maybe even some goats or sheep. It's close to the capital, but not too close."

"Sounds like a good dream," Yuan said, resting his elbows on his knees.

"What do you dream about? After this war is over, what do you want?"

To live with her, here, on this hill with that goat and the few sheep. To wake up next to her with this kind of sunshine making her face glow.. To make breakfast together. To have Kratos and Mithos over and laugh over dinner. To have an entire bookshelf, as tall as from the floor to the ceiling. To tend those sheep like he would have if he hadn't left home, to let them roam these hills. To garden with her.

But the words didn't want to come out

"I haven't really thought about it yet. I guess I can't really imagine it. A world without this war. As far back as I can remember, it was always going on, y'know?"

"Mm. But it can't go on forever."

"Tell that to the guys in charge," Yuan said, twirling a dandelion in his fingers. "…The fields back home would fill up with these every spring. I remember asking my brother once why only in the fields. You know what he told me? They were fluffy, like sheep, so it was a sign that those fields were good for the sheep."

Martel chuckled. "We didn't really have dandelions in Heimdall. It's very…swampy…near there."

"Wait, so the ground is always soggy?"

"No. It's so hot and humid there that the sun dries it quickly. But it isn't good farmland there."

"So what do people do for a living?"

"My uncle was a bookbinder. But since elves live so long, they usually work at whatever craft they want to master. There were blacksmiths and potionmakers. It's all very tranquil, really. Very still."

"It sounds beautiful and a little boring."

She laughed, the sound like silver bells ringing out over the land. "It was a little."

"Do you miss it?"

Her eyes darkened slightly. "…I miss the one that was there before my parents died. It was very different. If the elves hated half-elves then, they never did anything about it. I would go to school and play skiprope with my friends."

Yuan tilted his head back, looking up at the sky. The only clouds were out towards the horizon, signaling a storm soon and a respite from the heat of summer. "Kratos was the first friend that was my age. I was the youngest in my village."

"Who knew that we would end up here?"

"Yeah…who knew?" Yuan didn't know why he did it, didn't know where the impulse came from, but his hand was moving without thought, poking the dandelion into Martel's hair just above her ear. She giggled as some of the spores feathered into her face, and Yuan wanted that moment to last forever.

They saw Mithos before he saw them, a blob of blonde bobbing and jogging up the hills. When he finally reached them, his lips twisted in a smile. "And you call me lazy."

"You _are_ lazy," Yuan said, his limbs feeling very much not up to moving.

"Then you should appreciate me coming all the way out here more because of it." Yuan wasn't sure if Mithos had a natural smart mouth or if he'd learned it from him. "Myra wants to talk to you."

"The both of us?"

Mithos shook his head. His hair looked shaggy as it was growing back out and in the morning, it looked worse than Kratos' hair, as Yuan had been kind enough to tell him. "No. Just you, Yuan."

"She say why?"

"You know how she is. I tried to ask and she just told me to get going."

Yuan huffed a sigh. "Alright then." He hefted himself to his feet and held a hand out to Martel. The dandelion in her hair was missing half of its spores and it might look a little ridiculous, but neither of them minded. "Coming? Or do you want to stay out here some more?"

Martel took his hand. "Just let me get my basket."

Mithos looked up at Yuan as Martel crossed the hill to where they'd left the basket. "You like her, don't you?"

"What?"

"You like my sister."

"Your sister's very difficult _not_ to like, kid."

Mithos bristled. He hated being called kid and Yuan knew it. "I meant that you _like_ her."

"No, I don't _"like"_ her."

It wasn't even a lie. Yuan was sure that he loved her.


	44. Chapter 44

_I sought my soul, but my soul I could not see. I sought my God, but my God eluded me. I sought my brother and I found all three._   
_~Author Unknown_

* * *

 

Yuan poked his head in the door. "Myra? You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, boyo. Come in." Myra was leaning against the front of her desk, a tall man standing beside her. Yuan could tell right away that he was no full-blooded elf. Elves couldn't build muscle like that, but his features were still very elven. His hair was blonde with tints of red and was tied behind him in a long warrior's braid, save for a single, smaller braid that fell down the side of his face that had white beads tied to it, and he had very pale blue eyes. "I don't believe you two have met."

"Not unless I was drinking that night, because in that case, I must have drunken far too much and forgot the incident entirely."

Myra rolled her eyes. "I told you he had a smart mouth."

The man chuckled. "I never doubted you." He held out a hand to Yuan. "I've heard a great many things about you, Yuan."

Yuan shook the hand warily. "Wonderful things, I hope. And I don't know your name."

"My name is Viren. And not all wonderful. But the good things outweigh the bad."

"Nice to meet you. Not to sound rude and ignorant, but why am I here?"

"You're very straightforward."

Yuan shrugged. "I've been told I spend too much time with humans."

"Yes, that's what I came to speak to you about." Viren saw the instinctive tensing and said, "I have no issues with the humans personally. I just want to stop what they're doing to us. I've also heard of you and your friend, Kratos."

"What about him?"

"I heard what you did for him."

Yuan clenched his left arm, where the blood had been taken from. The healing magic had left no physical scar, but he would always know exactly where it was. "You have a problem with it?"

"Not at all. I'm just surprised that a half-elf would go so far for a human."

Viren was surprised at the spark of temper in Yuan's eyes. "Don't be. Kratos is my best friend. I'd do anything for him."

"Clearly. Listen, there aren't many people like you. And Kratos, I'm assuming because I haven't heard about him having a negative reaction to the transfusion."

Yuan snorted. Negative? Kratos found it fascinating. "So what do you want with us?"

"I'm sure you've heard of the…places…where the humans put our prisoners of war. When they attack one of our villages, any of us that don't become slaves are put in those…hellholes."

"The ranches." Yuan had heard some of the other half-elves discussing them. "Yeah, I've heard. What does that have to do with us?"

"I'm trying to form a team to infiltrate those ranches and free our people. Now, both you and Kratos have proved yourselves on the battlefield and, more importantly, you don't discriminate."

"…The humans didn't just capture half-elves, did they?"

"No. Any human sympathizers are in there as well and any elves they can capture in their borders. I've heard rumors that some dwarves are there as well, but I'd be very surprised if that was true. I'm asking you and Kratos to help."

"Uh-huh. So where's Kratos?"

"I'm not sure I understand."

"It's kind of a simple question. Where is he? Because I don't see him here and I can't make decisions for him."

"I was told he was recovering."

Yuan arched an eyebrow. "How badly do you think he was hurt? The Healers had him drinking all sorts of pothers and concoctions as well as a good dose of magic a day until last week. You really think he can't walk?"

"You may not be able to speak for Kratos, but you can certainly speak for yourself. Will you help?"

"I'll think about it." Yuan whirled on his heel and strode from the room.

"That boy has elven pride and a human's temper. It makes for a bad combination." Myra looked at Viren. "I'm sorry, about him."

Viren waved away the apology. "I've heard worse, and I'm accustomed to that combination. My closest friend is very much like him."

Myra shook her head. "Where do we find people like that?"

Viren chuckled. "I don't know about you, but I found my friend—or he found me, I'm not entirely sure—in slavery at the ranches."

Myra's eyes travelled to the man's forearm, where the numbers stood out stark against the warm brown skin. "That seems to be where a lot of friends are found."

"How strange life can be."

"Yes. If you'll excuse me, I have troops to train. Unless you'd like to sit in?"

"Not today. It was a long journey back from the frontlines."

"Fair enough. I'll see you in the mess at dinner then, General?"

"Absolutely."

* * *

 

"You don't look like your day was much better than mine."

Viren glanced up at his friend. "It wasn't."

He held out a tall mug of ale. "Go on then, _General_." The title was said with a teasing quirk of the lips. "Spill your woes."

"Or drown in them?"

He raised his mug. "Exactly. Did you not find anybody that could do the job?"

"There were two possibilities. A human and a half-elf, if you could believe it. Best friends."

Eyebrows shot into his hairlines. "You're joking."

"Nope. And guess where they met?"

Two pairs of eyes flickered at each other's tattoos. "In slavery? Really? The world has a very bad sense of humor."

Viren stretched his legs, leaning back against the wall that still retained some of the warmth of the day. "That it does. I didn't meet the human, but the half-elf was very stubborn. And mouthy. I'm surprised Myra hasn't kicked his ass yet for being rude. Or maybe she has and he hasn't gotten the message yet. I dunno."

The other man snorted. "Believe me, he hasn't. When Myra kicks your ass, you get the message or she beats you until you get it."

Viren smirked at him. "Ah, the tender voice of experience."

"Oh, shut up."

"The kid had some real promise though. I could see it."

"Must've been some kind of promise to catch your attention. Who was the kid?"

"Name's Yuan. No last name. Him and the human, Kratos, just showed up in town one day along with two other half-elves." Viren read the expression on his friend's face. "Something wrong?"

"Nope," the man said. "Not at all."

* * *

"He wants us to do what?"

"Infiltrate the ranches and free the prisoners," Yuan said, sharing half of his slice of bread with Kratos automatically, just like Kratos would always give him the bigger portion of food. It was a habit they'd learned on the road.

"I-I didn't know about these ranches."

Yuan didn't look at him.

"You did, though, didn't you? You knew about what the humans were doing in those ranches."

"I never knew specifics. All I know is that when humans attack a town, half-elves who aren't bought as slaves are sent to the ranch, where they get numbers and are made to work until they're bought or until they die."

Kratos stared at Yuan as though he was afraid that he would disappear if he looked away. It was a terrible thought that, if not for his father, Kratos might never have met Yuan and Yuan could have been branded and sent to one of those ranches.

"I never thought I'd actually be grateful to my father," Kratos said quietly.

Yuan understood the train of thought immediately. It wouldn't have been the first time Yuan had thought about what might have happened if things had gone differently. _(Sometimes, it was enough to keep him awake at night. Sometimes…it scared him more than the thought of drowning.)_

"So what d'you think? Should we do it?" Yuan asked, dipping his bread into his lentils. "Help out Viren, I mean."

"I like the idea," Kratos said slowly. "And I want to help."

"But…?" Yuan prodded.

"I dunno. Feels weird is all."

"Good weird or bad weird?" Because Yuan trusted Kratos' instincts more than he trusted his own.

"Not really either of them, but leaning more towards good." Kratos hesitated. "What about Mithos and Martel?"

"He didn't mention anything about them. And Martel would never let Mithos come and she wouldn't come without Mithos." Yuan stirred his stew aimlessly. "I want to do something. To be honest, I've been getting a little tired of being so safe all the time."

"You're reckless." _(And Kratos can't very well let him go alone. They're brothers and –and-someones.)_

"That's what I've got you for." Yuan's eyes travelled to Kratos' side, where bandages were still wrapped and salves still had to be applied. That kind of wound was finicky no matter what you did with it. But at least he was alive. Yuan didn't think he would ever stop relishing those worse. Kratos was alive.

Kratos followed his gaze. "Don't start fussing," he grumbled. "The Healers fuss enough."

Yuan grinned a little. "And here I thought you would love women fussing over you night and day."

Kratos gave him a dour look before going back to his stew, which only made Yuan laugh.

* * *

 

Viren spent most of his mealtimes outside, eating as he walked wherever his feet took him. Suppers though, they were eaten at the mess hall. It's something he vaguely remembered his mother enforcing—eating at the table at suppertime.

"Do you mind if we sit?" Viren looked up, surprised to see a human standing in front of him. It could only be the Kratos he'd been hearing so much about.

"By all means," Viren said.

Kratos took a seat across from him and spooned his stew suspiciously. "…There's tomatoes in this, isn't there?"

Viren remembered being pleasantly surprised at that discovery. He hadn't realized that tomatoes were in season already. "Do you not like tomatoes?"

"He hates them." Viren blinked in surprise as Yuan plopped himself in the seat beside Kratos'. Yuan turned to the human. "And you didn't think to ask, did you?"

Kratos shrugged a little sheepishly. "I was hungry. The Healers finally said that I could eat proper food again. None of this bread dipped in broth and pothers all day."

Yuan rolled his eyes and switched their bowls. "And this is why you've got me. You know that Caryl is sweet on you, right?"

Kratos nearly choked on his first sip of water. "What?"

"Caryl," Yuan repeated. "The assistant cook?"

"I know who she is."

"Yeah, she's sweet on you. That, or Martel suddenly got a really wicked sense of humor." Yuan liked that piece of news for more than the teasing opportunities that it presented. It was a sign of just how comfortable the half-elves were becoming around Kratos. Some of the warriors had even asked for Kratos' advice on swordsmanship and had invited Kratos to sit beside them for supper.

_(Yuan wants to think that it isn't because Kratos has elven blood in him now, but he's not naïve enough to believe that that wasn't part of the reason that they were so much more comfortable with him now. They'd seen him bleed—humans were just as mortal as the half-elves were now)_

Viren watched them interact with fascination. They bickered and talked with easy familiarity. It was like they weren't even aware of their difference in race or surroundings or, indeed, anything beyond themselves.

Kratos shook his head and broke a roll in half. "This is getting into the ridiculous."

"Is not. And a manticore would absolutely win in a fight against a chimera." Yuan turned to Viren, blue eyes very intent on him. "Well? What do you think?"

"A manticore or a chimera?" Viren repeated.

"Yes. Think about it, they're similar, but just different enough to make an interesting fight," Kratos said after swallowing his roll.

"Dare I ask exactly how this subject came about?"

"It's not our fault," Kratos-and-Yuan said immediately.

"Mithos mentioned it real quick over breakfast this morning," Yuan explained. "Apparently, he found one of his books that the mages gave him to study had diagrams and sketches as well as descriptions of both, and he was thinking out loud, so…"

"And we're split even," Kratos told him. "Martel and I think that the chimera would win—"

"And Mithos and I are all for the manticore. So we need a deciding opinion."

Verin munched on an apple as he thought about it. "Honestly, I think I'd have to go for the manticore."

"Ha!" Yuan grinned triumphantly. "You owe me chocolate, Kratos."

Kratos rolled his eyes a little, but he was still smiling. "Yeah, yeah." The human looked over at Verin. "He's going to start gloating now, so you might want to cover your ears."

Verin was surprised when a chuckle bubbled from his lips, even as Yuan shoved Kratos playfully. "I'm sure I can handle it," he said dryly.

"Careful, Kratos, or you might find some tomatoes slipped into your soup if you keep taking away my fun," Yuan grumbled.

"Stop whining." Kratos leaned his forearms on the table, suddenly an adult. Verin wondered if all teenagers were like this—children one moment, adults the next. "So, what, exactly, is this team you're putting together?"

Subtle as a battering ram, he was. Verin glanced to his left, somehow unsurprised to see Yuan smirking a little. "It's to infiltrate the ranches that the humans have placed my people in."

Verin was surprised at the lack of reaction at the venom he knew was in his tone when he said 'humans'. Kratos didn't seem to care at all. "Yuan mentioned that. How're you planning on doing that, exactly?"

"Once I get a decent amount of people, the specifics of the plan will come together."

"Uh-huh."

"Who else is on this 'team' of yours?" Yuan asked.

"So far, myself and a close friend of mine. Who is, actually...not here, strangely enough." Verin craned his head to look for the familiar features in the mess hall. It wasn't like him to miss supper… "Ah, there he is."

Yuan-and-Kratos turned, following Verin's eyes. The man walking towards them wasn't…tall, really, but neither was he short. He was human-stocky, and his brown hair was braided like Viren's, with beads tied into it that clacked with every movement of his head. His ears were rounder than most half-elves, but Kratos found something about him vaguely familiar, even though he was sure he had never met this man before. He turned to ask Yuan, but his best friend was on his feet, staring at the newcomer.

"…Zaren?"

 


	45. Brotherhood

* * *

 

_I don't believe an accident of birth makes people sisters or brothers. It makes them siblings, gives them mutuality of parentage. Sisterhood and brotherhood is a condition people have to work at._   
_~Maya Angelou_

* * *

 

Yuan had told Kratos of his brother, had told him of the sheepherder and the way they would play hand games to decide who had to do what chores. The man in front of them wasn't anything like the boy that Yuan had described. This was a warrior, trained and hardened. Kratos' eyes flicked to Zaren's arm and, sure enough, there were numbers tattooed there.

The man scooped Yuan up into a tight hug, trembling with emotion.  "I didn't know what happened to you. No one in the ranch had seen where they'd taken you."

Yuan was still too stunned to react. "None of the slaves saw you either," he said. "I thought you were dead." He grabbed his brother, clutching at his clothes, hiding his face in his neck. "I missed you."

"Missed you too, little brother." Zaren pulled back to press his lips to his forehead--almost a kiss, but it lingered too long. He didn't let Yuan go, though. 

"…Well, you definitely don't look six anymore."

Yuan laughed and Kratos knew he wasn't imagining the wet edge to it. "And what happened to you?"

"Viren and me escaped the ranch and headed out to his tribe, out in the desert."

"Viren and I," Yuan corrected automatically.

Zaren tilted his head a little, like he didn't quite know what to make of what he was looking at. "Someone taught you proper, didn't they?"

Yuan turned and beckoned Kratos forward. Kratos obeyed without thinking. "This is Kratos. He and I escaped the humans together."

Kratos saw the confusion on Zaren's face before Yuan did. "It's a long story."

"I'll bet." Zaren hesitated, glancing between Yuan-and-Kratos, and over their shoulder at Viren before holding out a hand. "It's nice to meet you."

Kratos saw the hesitation, but couldn't fault him for it. He shook his hand. "Likewise."

"Aurion!" Yuan and Kratos both turned automatically towards that voice, more because of the name. Myra was very good at commanding respect. "Get Yuan and go. You two are late for guard duty."

Yuan hesitated before stepping away from his brother. He glanced up at Zaren, at the vaguely unfamiliar face, framed as it was by the braids and beads. _(Will he disappear again? Will this all vanish like a dream? He doesn't want to let go of Zaren, he just got him back)_ A smile tilted his lips, but something about it was different, slightly strained. "Trust me, don't keep her waiting."

* * *

"They're very close," Zaren murmured to Viren as he sat beside him, watching his little brother and the human walk away.

"Not so different from you and I, really."

Zaren glanced at him. The man was his closest friend, had taught him to speak properly, taught him how to survive. "Can he be trusted? Kratos?"

"That depends on whether you trust Yuan's judgment. From what I hear, those two have been helping out quite a bit around here. Some of the other half-elves are beginning to trust him as well."

"Still a human," Zaren muttered. He tried not to hate them, he did. He had travelled through human lands with Viren and seen that the majority of them didn't live much better than they did. But that didn't mean he could forget what had been done to them in the ranch.

Viren watched his friend, saw the emotions play out on the expressive face. "What're you thinking?"

Zaren chuckled a little, but there was no amusement in the sound. "…I almost didn't recognize my own brother…he's so tall now, and his face and voice changed…I know it would have happened anyway if the humans hadn't come, but it's still a shock. And he recognized me almost right away." _(He had known, logically, that if he would ever see Yuan again that he would have grown. It's been something like ten years. He'd dreamed about reuniting with him, the first year or so in the ranch. After that, he'd learned it was better not to dream. It didn't hurt as much. That didn't mean his mind didn't wander sometimes, that he didn't dream about his little brother with those big eyes on the horizon, living happily somewhere. It had never clicked, properly, that his brother would be grown up. Without him.)  
_

"Actually, I think he thought you were a ghost."

Zaren shot him a look. "Not the time for jokes."

"I was being serious."

"I…I don't know what to do. I mean, I was the one that looked out for 'im when we were kids, y'know? Then…" Everything happened. "And I see him now and I get the feeling that he doesn't need me anymore."

"Maybe he doesn't," Viren said, fiddling with his spoon. "But he wants you here. He wants to know you again."

Zaren fingered the white beads that hung on the braids. "…That's going to be an interesting conversation."

Viren chuckled as he stood up. "I need to go. Alstan wanted to see me after supper." He kissed the top of his friend's head, a habitual thing from nights of fear in the ranches. "Try not to do anything stupid, yeah?"

* * *

 

"…I didn't think I was ever going to see him again," Yuan said quietly. It was easy to talk out here on the wall where it was difficult for anyone to hear you if you didn't want them to.

"He's different than I pictured," Kratos said. They didn't look alike, not really, but something was the same. Perhaps the line of the jaw or the tilt of their smiles.

"He's different than I remember." Yuan leaned back against the wall, looking out over the city. Lanterns glowed every few street corners, highlighting the last remnants of the sun on the horizon and accenting the shadows that crept along the ground and walls.

"To be fair, you're different than he remembers too." Hell, Yuan was different than Kratos remembered.

"It'd be nice to never change, wouldn't it? To be able to see the people you love never grow old? Or get sick?"

Kratos mimicked his friend, leaning back so that their shoulders were touching. "…Yeah, I guess." But this heavy silence, wrought with Yuan's thoughts and memories, was too heavy for tonight. He remembered a conversation they'd had years ago. "If you had to choose between flying and living forever, what would you choose?"

Yuan glanced at him and flashed a grateful smile for changing the topic. "I dunno…flying would be pretty awesome, don't you think? I mean, imagine touching those stars and the sky!"

Kratos smiled. Despite Yuan's joy in the fact that they were adults—the human age of majority was eighteen. Twenty, if you were female. When Kratos asked after half-elven age of majority, he'd gotten a shrug and a "Not a clue." as a response—and yet, Yuan was still the same dreamer he had been when he had carved _YUAN AND KRATOS, KINGS OF THE WORLD_ into the tree.

Sometimes, Kratos wondered if Yuan would want to fly so badly if he hadn't been raised in a little village whose guardian Summon Spirit were the Sylph. Yuan had told him about it—the monthly prayers on the mountain, their likenesses painted on walls and carved in cliff faces; the songs and the incense that would smell of smoke and pomegranate.

" _You_ can fly," Kratos told him. "I'll stay right here, with my feet on the ground, and cheer you on."

Yuan grinned. "C'mon, Kratos. Heights aren't so bad. And are you honestly telling me that you'd rather live forever? 'Cause that seems like it'd get boring to me."

"Haven't you ever wondered what the world's gonna be like thirty years from now? Or a hundred?"

Yuan didn't say anything, waiting for Kratos' brain to catch up to his words. The human winced when it happened. "Sorry."

"It's fine." Yuan said quietly. It wasn't something they ever really discussed. Yuan didn't know how many years he was going to live. Some half-elves lived only as long as humans. Others lived for five hundred years. Yuan didn't know if he was going to outlive Kratos, but it was likely and he didn't want to imagine what life would be like without his blood brother.

 _(Yuan finds it vaguely ironic that, once, Zaren had been his only real brother. He hadn't been able to feel the same grief that Zaren and Mama had when the news of Dehua and Kail hit because they hadn't been real to him, he hadn't_ known _them. Now, it's Zaren that he doesn't know and Kratos who is the real brother._

_Somehow, Yuan can't find a way to regret any of it.)_


	46. For Luck

* * *

 

_She is a friend of mind. She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order. It's good, you know, when you got a woman who is a friend of your mind.  
~Toni Morrison, **Beloved**_

* * *

 

"So…why are you hiding here again?" Martel asked as she mixed a salve.

"'m not hiding," Yuan muttered.

"Uh-huh."

"Alright, it's because of my brother."

Martel glanced back at Yuan, who was carefully patching whatever injuries he could. Yuan was a surprisingly quick learner and willing to help. And the Healers were needing the help. The war hadn't been getting any better, but, at the very least, it wasn't much worse.

"…You're not talking about Kratos, are you?" The way Martel said it, she already knew the answer.

Yuan shook his head as he finished tying a bandage. This was the last patient who was conscious. The others only needed pothers, salves and quite a bit of sleep. "No. My, my biological brother. He's here."

Martel knew very little of whom Yuan had been before Kratos, and vice versa. She knew he'd had brothers, but she'd assumed them dead. "He's alive?"

"Mm." Yuan smiled, fond in a very different way than he did with Kratos. "He's—he's so different now. And so am I. I barely knew what to say to him when I saw him again. It's just _awkward_ now."

"…Especially since Kratos is your brother too?" That was something that Martel had never doubted. Kratos-and-Yuan were an incredible force of nature that was in turns sweetly protective and powerfully destructive. If they ever broke, Martel thought, they could very well shatter the world with them.

Yuan sat back on his haunches, not looking at her. "…Yeah. That too."

"You could just talk to him," she suggested.

"I wouldn't know what to say. It's—nothing's the same with him anymore. I think we're too different now," he said the last part so quietly that Martel nearly didn't hear it, as though giving voice to his fears would make them real.

But the words themselves made Martel chuckle. "Interesting choice of words."

Yuan looked up, frowned at her.

"You think you're too different," she repeated. "Now, think about you and Kratos and tell me that that doesn't sound just a little ridiculous."

Martel waited for the thought to process and she saw when it happened. Yuan's lips twitched to a smile that widened slowly before he barked out a laugh. He grinned wryly at her. "Why is it that you always make so much sense?"

"Women often do." Martel carefully began scooping the salve out of the bowl into a jar. "You just don't listen to anyone."

"I've been told it's one of my finer traits." Yuan rose easily to his feet, tossing what was left of the roll of bandages into a rickety cupboard.

"It doesn't count if you say it to yourself." She looked up at him. "So, what are you going to do about this brother of yours?"

Yuan ran a hand through his hair. "Sylph knows. I don't want to hide though."

No, he wouldn't, Martel thought. It wasn't in his temperament. "Don't tell me you're going to let fear get the better of you."

Yuan bristled automatically, as she'd known he would. Yuan was a proud man. "Of course not! Just—I don't know what other options there are. I can't retreat and I'm not going to just march up to him and talk."

"Then go around," she suggested, twisting the cork into the neck of the jar.

Creases formed in between Yuan's eyebrows when he frowned. "What?"

"If you can't go forward, and you can't go back, you go sideways or around. Everyone knows that."

"Not that that isn't a lovely metaphor, but that doesn't tell me what I'm supposed to do." Yuan had never had a head for analogies and the metaphoric. Not that he didn't understand it, because he did, but he was very much a linear thinker. He liked straightforward, down-to-earth words.

"You have a brain, don't you?" Martel snapped suddenly, making Yuan take an uncertain step back. "Use it." She winced the next moment and said quietly, "I'm sorry. I've been stressed lately."

"Clearly. C'mon, up you get." Yuan took her hands and tugged her to her feet.

"Where're you taking me?" Martel didn't bother fighting. Tiredness was dragging at her limbs so that she knew it was pointless to even try.

"Outside. Away from all this."

"My patients—"

"Are either asleep or unconscious. I'm sure they'll be fine without you for a bit."

It was strangely warm outside, and the slight humidity made her hair stick to the back of her neck uncomfortably. But out here, on the street at this time of twilight, meant that there were fewer people out because it was suppertime and families were ladling stew into bowls and washing hands and setting tables.

Martel looked up and down the street. How very ordinary this place looked. How simple. Sometimes—more often than she was willing to admit—she missed Heimdall. Missed its arching trees and slender branches; the fresh smell of constantly wet grass and the strong humidity of the air that wrapped and settled itself down on you like a heavy cloak.

"Sometimes, I wonder why I bother."

She realized a moment after she heard herself say it that she'd said it out loud. It hadn't been on purpose. She waited for the judgment, the optimism of others, even if they didn't believe it themselves.

But Yuan didn't do any of that. He simply watched her with very blue eyes. "I've been wondering that myself for a while now."

"Do you have an answer?"

Yuan shrugged, his hands in his pockets and seeing him right there, standing right in the middle of the street with the summer breeze tousling his hair and the strange faraway and too-close look in his eyes made it feel like they were standing on a precipice, that they would take their next step, and either fall or fly.

"No. But the way I figure it, no one does." Yuan smiled at her, wistful in a strange twist of the lips. "But it wouldn't be the first time we did something without understanding why."

Trusting people you met on a boat. Making friends with humans. He had a point. "No. So what will you do?"

Yuan's laugh was a strained, hoarse sound. "Wing it."

"Thought you'd say that." Martel hesitated before leaning in and kissing his cheek.

She watched the pink rise in his cheeks, saw the way his ears went red, and his smile turned sweet. "What was that for?" he mumbled, looking from her to the ground and back to her.

Martel smiled, unable to help it. "For luck."


	47. Chapter 47

* * *

 

_Family life is a bit like a runny peach pie - not perfect but who's complaining?_   
_~Robert Brault_

* * *

 

"What-what kind of sword is that?"

Zaren glanced up, surprised to see Yuan there, and ashamed that he couldn't recognize him by voice alone. But Yuan had changed so much. He was tall now, and while his hair was that same familiar shade of blue, it was longer than it used to be and he kept it tied back at the nape of his neck. His face was longer, the angles of his face sharper. Zaren wondered if Yuan had to shave. Not all half-elves did, after all. 

Then he remembered that Yuan had asked him a question and he looked back down at the swords he'd been sharpening. They curved gracefully, ending at a sharp point. "They're called scimitars. Or, that's what Viren told me."

"Can I see one?"

Zaren instinctively wanted to say no, that Yuan was too young. But that wasn't the case anymore. "Sure."

Yuan handled the sword with a wary familiarity. He spun it easily, hefting it in his hand and swinging it a few times to get a feel for it. "The balance on this is strange. For a sword, at least. It leans forward and there's a bit more weight at the far end of the blade." It reminded Yuan more of the double-ended spear that he favored than a sword.

"Scimitars are meant for slicing than stabbing."

Yuan made a noise of interest in his throat, holding the sword in both hands and peering at the inscription on the blade, right above the hilt. "This isn't common. Or human."

"No, it isn't."

Yuan glanced up at him, blue eyes startlingly intelligent. Not that his little brother had ever been stupid, but never someone that anyone would consider learned. That was something else that was different. "It doesn't look like it would be elven."

"Have you ever seen elven?" Zaren wanted to know. What had led Yuan from slavery to here? 

"Not that I'm aware of. Have you?"

"No. That's the language that Viren's tribe uses."

"Tribe?" Yuan repeated. "Are they—what's the word?—nomads?"

"I don't know what that means." It felt strange to say that to his younger brother.

"It's like…they travel a lot. Never in the same place for very long."

"No, they're not like that. Viren's told me about some tribes that are, though." They had been quiet, broken stories, told in the desperate nights when sleep wouldn't come, but neither wanted to think about what awaited them in the morning, or what had just been done to them.

"What was it like? You lived there awhile, didn't you?"

Zaren stared at him. "How'd you figure that out?"

Yuan touched a hand to his bangs, mirroring where the beads had been braided into Zaren's hair. "He has the same things you do."

"Yes, it's a tribal tradition." How to begin to explain it? "They're a tribe of warriors, mostly, livin' out in the desert out west. The tradition is…well, when you kill an enemy, you take a portion of their bone and you make it into a bead."

"And you braid it into your hair?" Yuan assumed, setting the sword back down on the ground. Zaren had expected Yuan to recoil at the very thought, as Zaren once had, but he didn't. He just tilted his head curiously, as though taking in the changes in his brother, just as Zaren had done.

"Yes. A sign of respect to the enemy."

"Huh. Well, that's different."

Zaren laughed, unable to help it. It was the oddest reaction he'd ever gotten to that explanation. "Yeah, I guess it is."

"So what's the inscription mean?"

"It says _shamshi_. It means 'brave lion'."

" _Shamshi,_ " Yuan repeated. "Where did you get swords like that? They're good quality."

Zaren wanted to ask how Yuan knew that, but it wasn't such a strange thing for a half-elf to know. More often than not, they were the ones putting the work in. "It was a gift from their chief when Viren was given the title of General."

"And in turn, you as his second-in-command."

Yuan was far too sharp for his own good. _(Zaren is happy that Yuan got out of Asgard, that he's found a place where all that cleverness can be put to use, and sharpened. He's not remotely happy about the way it had happened, but it's good to see the man Yuan is becoming)_ "Yes." Zaren leaned back on one hand, feeling more at ease now that the initial awkwardness was gone, though the distance between them remained. "So. Tell me about you and Kratos."

Yuan chuckled a little and ran a hand through his hair. "Where do you want me to start?"

"At the beginning would be nice."

Yuan sat down on the stone wall beside his brother. "…I was his slave. Looking back, it's weird. I don't really know where, exactly, things changed. Next thing I really remember, Kratos is asking me if I wanna learn how to read. I thought he'd gone off the deep end at first."

"Why'd he offer you something like that?"

Yuan shrugged. "Kratos is one of those people who's too nice for his own good." Yuan saw the expression on his brother's face, saw the dim disbelief. "It's true."

"I can't be nearly as understanding as you are."

The instinctive anger flared. "Because he's a human?"

Zaren's eyes went hard in a way that Yuan hadn't known they could. "Yes. I can't forget what they've done to me."

"No one's asking you to," Yuan said hotly. "Just put it aside enough so that you can judge people for what they are instead of what you want to see in them!"

"You're being naïve. The humans don't want anything to do with us. I've seen what they've done to our villages. They dig up the graves of our dead, they destroy our temples, burn our homes—"

"You're letting the army represent a whole race!" Yuan bit back any more words he had to say on the subject—and people said he didn't know when to keep his mouth shut. He sighed. "I don't wanna fight with you. Especially not about this."

He believed it, Zaren thought. He really believed that humans and half-elves could find some middle ground. Zaren didn't believe that they were all bad (though most of them were), but he knew that there was no way that half-elves and humans could ever agree long enough to keep any measure of peace.

A bell rang out seven times, echoing slightly through the stone buildings. Yuan glanced up at the darkening sky. "…I hafta go. Promised Kratos I'd meet him after dinner."

"Sure." Zaren didn't really have words after that. What words could there be?

* * *

 

Kratos knew something was wrong immediately. "What happened?"

"…Talked with my brother." Yuan stuffed his hands in his pockets, staring out at the small courtyard that Kratos had found. It was a good place to practice magic; secluded and with a decent amount of space where very few things could catch on fire.

"Didn't go so well, I take it?"

"It was a start, I guess. We said more than ten words to each other." Yuan paused, not really wanting to talk about it, but the idea was there, in the back of his mind, poisoning all thoughts of the cool spring night that was balanced on the edge of day's warm knife. "Kratos…do you ever think that maybe it's not possible?"

Kratos tilted his head in an unspoken question.

"This, what we're fighting for. I mean, do you really think that humans and half-elves can do it? Can find some kind of middle ground?"

"Sometimes," Kratos admitted quietly. "Sometimes, it feels like we're not getting anywhere at all, fighting like we are."

"And the rest of the time?"

Kratos' shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug. He wasn't as bony as he used to be. He'd been filling out, though it had been more or less a consensus between the four of them that he would never be very tall. "I remember us."

Us. It's a simple word. Two letters. Rolled off the tongue quite easily. One of the first that Yuan remembered learning. But it seemed heavy now, like it might sink or fly with but a twist of the lips. "We are the odd ones out, aren't we?"

"Their loss." Martel's calm confidence had infected him. Not that that was very surprising. They had had a kinship from the word go. It suited him, Yuan thought, though he still found confidence of any shade an odd feature on his blood brother.

Yuan chuckled. "Guess so. C'mon, you won't learn this by standing around talking."

Kratos had a talent for earth magic, they'd discovered—if it was indeed possible to have a talent for something that you weren't, by birth, supposed to be able to do. Yuan had laughed the first time they came to that conclusion—he wasn't, after all, the only one helping Kratos learn—and said that that wasn't surprising at all considering Kratos' dislike of heights.

But lightning magic was Yuan's specialty.

_"I want to learn why you like it so much," Kratos had said while the two of them were more or less still confined to bed on strict orders from the Healers._

_"I'd explain it to you if I could." Yuan had turned his head on the pillow, feeling lethargic in the warmth of the Healers' tents. He knew from the pink that was always on Martel's cheeks and nose when she came in along with her constantly wearing long sleeves—something she wasn't fond of—how cold it must be outside._

_"You could teach it to me instead."_

_Yuan smiled. The idea, the possibility, of using magic was both exhilarating and exciting to Kratos. There was no sign of fear in him at all. Yuan liked the idea of being able to teach Kratos something like this, something so close to him. Their roles would be reversed now, Yuan teaching him something important, nearly vital. "Yeah, I could."_

It takes some explaining and some fiddling for Kratos to even feel the electricity in his fingertips. Every time he saw the magic form in his hands and felt the rush of mana—a feeling he never ever wanted to forget—it's thrilling. Eventually, after hours of practice, he could generate enough lightning to make it dance between two fingers.

It was nothing compared to what he'd seen Yuan do. _(But nothing was and, at the same time, he never wants to be able to do something like that. Kratos had seen what it did to Yuan, the nightmares of burned and blackened bodies, of families broken because of him.)_ It's a start, though. There had been a lot of those today, apparently.

They lay on the ground after they were finished, arms and legs spread out, and staring up at the pieces of sky they could see between the buildings. It was nothing like the sky they remembered sitting on the roof of Kratos' house, or on the road, where it seemed like it would never ever end. But sometimes, Kratos thought that he could see a familiar constellation again.

"Your brother doesn't like me, does he?" Kratos asked after a while. His heart was still beating too fast—magic did that to him and Martel told him not to worry too much about it, that his body just wasn't accustomed to using magic yet—and the silence was a warm shadow draped across them.

"I don't think he likes any humans."

"He was in a ranch," Kratos pointed out.

"And I was a slave."

"Not the same thing." The human turned over on his stomach, regarding Yuan easily through red-brown eyes. "I mean, think about it."

"I have. I don't think he's right, though. Half-elves haven't been any better to you than you have been to us, and you're still here."

"You make it sound like it's a chore."

"Don't pretend it didn't bother you, the way they treated you," Yuan told him. "I know you too well to not know better."

Kratos made a sound in his throat. "It did. But they warmed up to me."

Yuan sat up, resting his elbows on raised knees as he looked back down at his best friend. "…You know that it's partially—hell, I might even go for mostly—because of what happened, right?"

Both of them try to avoid mentioning the fact that Kratos had very nearly died that day. Sometimes, Yuan still saw Kratos in his dreams—too pale skin washed with stark red _(So much red…wouldn't stop…)_ —and sometimes, Yuan caught Kratos with a hand to his stomach, eyes far away. _(Yuan had nearly drowned once and Kratos has nearly died. Yuan wonders if they feel the same. Had Death been terribly seductive and pulled and lured Kratos closer? Had Kratos_ wanted _to go?)_

"I know. I'm not completely human anymore."

"If his case is just against humans, then you don't go in that category."

"His case wasn't against me," Kratos reminded him. "He doesn't like all humans."

"Not the point."

"Then what is?"

"Being enslaved doesn't give him that excuse! There're good and bad humans just like there're good and bad half-elves."

"I know." Yuan stopped and stared at Kratos, who had turned back over onto his back, his hands folded on his stomach. "And you know it too."

"So why'd you argue for his side?"

"I think it's because you needed to hear yourself say it."

Yuan stared at him for long minutes before barking out a laugh. "You're crazy, y'know that?"

Kratos grinned up at him. "But you love me anyway."

"Of course I do." Because really, Yuan couldn't imagine life without him now.


	48. War

* * *

 

_War. The dark time of valour, loss and hope where a man is controlled by his gun; where a gun is controlled by his hatred. Completely uncontrollable._   
_~Daniel Ha_

* * *

 

It had been two years since they first heard that the human army had broken through the northwestern border, and a little less than a year since they were sent to the front lines. Martel had fought at first, had insisted that Mithos should stay behind, that he was still too young despite being ten years old.

The General _(Because Viren and the General are different men with the same face)_ shook his head, the beads clacking. "I'm sorry, Martel." And she believed it because Viren the General wasn't a man who lied. "But he has to go. He's too skilled not to send out. I have to do this for the good of everyone."

She hadn't so much as spoken to him for months after that and, when he went in for some stitches, she 'forgot' to dab to numb the area first.

Viren hadn't known that the gentle, quiet, sassy woman he'd known for a year and some change could be quite so vindictive. Yuan had just grinned and said that "Martel is good at surprising you like that."

Her hands were almost constantly painted with red now, the wounded were so many. And even though she wasn't the only Healer on duty, there simply weren't enough of them to do these kinds of healing quick enough. Myra had taught her stronger offensive spells, had made sure she could do them without thinking.

Of course, Myra had never trained her with live people who stared at you just before they died _(She heard once that the last thing you see is forever etched onto your eyelids. It seems a strange thought to her because she thinks that the last thing she'll ever see is the faces of her boys because they were constantly there in ways that she doesn't want to imagine not having)._

"Martel?"

She glanced up at her little brother. Only, he didn't seem so little anymore. Mithos had been growing in leaps and bounds lately and he was only a few heads shorter than her now. And there were shadows in his eyes, shadows that should never have had to be there. He was too thin as well. Not from hunger—though that was partially it. They were living on lean rations out here—but from that baby fat being transformed into lean muscle.

"You look exhausted." If that was the case, then Martel looked better than she felt. "You need rest."

"I can't rest, Mithos. There's too much to be done."

Mithos shook his head. His hair needed a cut, Martel thought absently. "Not right now. And have you been eating?"

"Shouldn't I be the one asking that?" Martel smiled and she knew it came out more as a grimace. "I am the older one."

"Then how about we both eat and get some sleep?" His smile was tired, but genuine.

"…Alright."

* * *

 

The humans had gotten too close. Some of them were in the camp. Martel could both hear and taste Yuan's lightning, like sweet pomegranate and sour plums. Mithos' magic was more subtle—most of the time—but she could still taste it, bittersweet grapefruit on her tongue. Kratos' was sporadic, but she knew his too. Gently spicy with hints of sweet.

She could hear the boots hitting the rocky ground with ease, could hear pebbles clattering and slipping, could hear the shouts of unfamiliar voices. She kept her patients calm as much as she could, particularly Tarrent, who was one of those half-elves who was older, but still looked so very young, as young as she did. Scars, pale white and thin as thread, had been traced along his face, along his cheeks, down his jaw and throat. They were old scars, and Martel didn't like to think about what must have happened to him because now, whenever things got to excitable, he panicked, got his knife—small sword would be a better description—and wouldn't hold back on what he considered a threat.

_(Tarrent is a good man, but his smiles are broken and sometimes, she hears him talking to the fiancée he never got to marry. "Engaged for eight years," he told her once, looking down at the ring he never takes off. "But she got killed when them humans dropped bombs in on her little village. Halen, it was called. Beautiful place. Trout in the spring and ice fishin' in the winter. 'S not there anymore. No one's there…")_

The tent flap opened, and Martel's grip on her staff was tight, her knuckles clenched until they're white. It could just be one of the boys, checking to make sure she was alright. But the person stepping inside wasn't anyone she knew, and they're built big, and there was nothing unthreatening about the broadsword in his hand.

Martel didn't think. Her staff was swinging up and her voice shouting words before she ever thought about it. Light—brilliant in the darkness of the night—speared from her staff and lanced itself in the man. Martel's stomach twisted at what remained of the man, little more than red meat and burnt bones.

There's a familiar flapping and Noishe was inside the tent, lovely silver feathers flecked and stained that terrible terrible red, hazel eyes flashing.

It took her a moment to recognize a buzzing sound as someone shouting her name as they got closer. When she was next aware of what was going on, Yuan was there, eyes crackling blue-violet like his lightning and double-headed spear in one hand.

"…rtel?"

"Yuan."

He narrowed worried eyes at her. "Are you here?"

"Yes. I-I'm fine." She'd been smart enough to take away Tarrent's knife-sword and give it to Kratos, who would know what to do with it, before all the excitement happened. "Where's Mithos? And Kratos?"

"They're fine," he assured her, though he truly had no way of knowing. They'd been fine the last time he'd seen them, up on the front lines, but that had been nearly a half hour ago. "Noishe was getting antsy and heading over here, so I came with him."

Martel refused to look at the meat-and-burns remains. She couldn't think that that used to be a person or she'd lose her stomach. "Are we pushing them back? Do you need me out there?"

People were shouting for her, people carrying or helping the injured walk, people sitting and yelling for somebody, please, anyone. Yuan shook his head. "They need you here." He kissed her cheek swiftly, easily, as they'd gotten comfortable doing to each other after so long. "I'll be back after it's over."

* * *

 

"Martel?"

He found her sitting on a boulder, arms wrapped around her stomach. The war was painted on her face, both literally and figuratively. Blood and worse were smeared in her hair and cheeks and exhaustion had created new angles of her face.

He sat beside her, setting his spear on the ground. She looked up then, but there was no recognition yet.

"Martel?" he repeated.

Her expression cleared and she was once again the woman he knew and loved. "Yuan."

"It's over." For now, he added silently and he knew that she knew that, but there was no point in speaking about the obvious. These skirmishes weren't just skirmishes anymore. Things were getting slowly worse.

"…I saw a kid die today," Martel said quietly, voice hoarse. "Blown to pieces." Yuan swallowed his horror. Kids were the worst. "And you know the most awful part? Kid probably wasn't much older than Mithos. And he just…"

Yuan wrapped an arm around her, tugging her close. These last two years in particular had been difficult on everyone. Times had been leaner, the war too close to home. "I know," he told her, leaning his head onto hers. And really, there wasn't much more to say.

Martel surveyed the land, blasted and burning by the destructive magics and technology. She imagined Heimdall, with its wash of greens and sturdy, ancient trunks; blue streams and warm sunlight like this place. The very thought made her want to cry. "…I don't want to have to keep killing. That's not what magic is for."

Yuan disagreed, but only to a certain point. He didn't like this mass murdering, the children dead on the street, but magic was a way to fight. He knew that and he would use magic to protect these people. Even if it meant someone pain.

"Where are the others?" she asked.

"Dunno. I couldn't find them after I went back."

She whirled to look at him, jarring his head from its resting place atop hers. "You're telling me that you don't know where Mithos is?"

The fire in her eyes was rekindled. Knowing that loosened a knot that Yuan hadn't known had formed in his stomach. "Wherever he is, he's with Kratos. He's safe."

Martel relaxed a little at hearing that. Yuan was right—Kratos would protect Mithos with his life, she knew that. Yuan let out a breath and stood up, holding out a hand. "Come on. Let's go find food."

"You're not going to look for Kratos?" Martel was always surprised at how very close Yuan-and-Kratos were much of the time.

Yuan grinned at her. It lacked his usual exuberance, but some of the charm remained. "Right now, food and Kratos are going to be in the same place."

* * *

 

He was right and Mithos ran to hug her tight when he saw her. She embraced him back tightly, never wanting to let him go. He was here, warm in her arms and she could feel his chest moving with every breath. _(Not like the kid…blown to pieces…a piece had gotten on her dress and she remembers screaming, or at least, wanting to scream…)_

They huddled close to each other, all four of them. They stayed near the fire and the pot of stew, which was thin and watery, but they devoured it and the hard biscuits that were being passed around. Kratos was the most exhausted of all of them, his body not meant to wield the magics that it did. He leaned against Yuan's shoulder, half-dozing, but too awake to go to sleep.

One of the other half-elves sitting around their fire was staring at them. They didn't recognize him, not even vaguely. He probably wasn't part of the capital's contingent. "So you're the human in the half-elven army?"

Kratos blinked at the man, tiredness dragging at every muscle in his body with deadened fingers. "Yeah. Why?"

"Why ain't you over on the other side of these mountains with yer people?" There was bitterness in his voice, but no hatred. A compromise.

Kratos' brow furrowed in the way it always did when he was confused. "I am with my people."

Yuan tilted his head at the half-elf, a subtle challenge despite him not really having enough energy to do much about it. "He's my brother."

The half-elf frowned just a little, thinking about it, before taking another long look at them. Finally, with a reluctance that Kratos couldn't blame him for, he said, "Welcome."

Kratos managed a smile—a mere upturning of the corner of his lips, really—and held out a hand, which the half-elf shook after a moment of hesitation. "Thanks."


	49. Chapter 49

* * *

 

 _"We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;_  
For he today that sheds blood with me shall be my brother."  
-Shakespeare

* * *

 

"We pushed them back," Viren said, rubbing his forehead. "They're off our lands."

"Then why the tone?" Yuan asked, sitting with legs crossed on the floor of the General's tent. Maps were spread on the ground as well, detailed and carefully maintained. He noticed that there were no actual words on them, just small symbols. "You sound like you've got a headache the size of the moon."

"That's almost accurate. And because we can't keep doing this. Too many of our people are dying because the humans keep pushing the borders."

Kratos was the first to figure it out. "So what you're saying is that you want to give them a reason to keep to their own side of the mountains."

Viren looked at him. "You don't sound like you agree."

"I think that if you attack them like you're planning on doing, you'll only make them angrier. Or reinforce the idea that they were right about you from the start in their head. It'll provoke them into attacking back at you."

Viren leaned forward. "Has that happened on other fronts?"

"I don't know. I'm only telling you what I think."

"We can't decide something like this based on what he thinks." Zaren was sitting with them, arm in a sling from where he'd taken a bad fall from the rocks fending off several attackers. Martel had offered to heal it, but he'd waved her away. _"Save your magic for the people who really need it," he'd said._

Zaren and Yuan were different, sometimes radically so to the point where you wondered how on earth they could possibly be related. Then, other times, Martel saw Zaren do or say something and she saw them as closely as twins.

Viren arched an eyebrow. "Out of the six of us, I think that Kratos is the one who's most likely to understand the humans' ways of thinking."

Yuan glanced around the maps, at the symbols—no numbers, never numbers or letters—inked onto them. "It looks to me like we're low on troops."

"We are. The humans have captured many of us and killed just as many."

"Why don't we just get those people out?" Mithos piped up. "The ones in the ranches."

"It's not that easy," Zaren told him. "Those ranches have too many guards. And we don't know how to use them machines."

"I do," Kratos said. "I can do it."

"And so can I." Yuan had learned everything right alongside Kratos and they were more or less the only two that could read human.

"And the guards?"

Mithos was the one to give Zaren an odd look. "We fight them."

" _You're_ not going," Martel told him sternly.

"Martel, I can help!" Mithos said, suddenly on his feet. "Those humans, they'd look at me and see a kid! They won't think I'm any harm."

"And what happens when they see that you are?" Martel countered. "You'll get yourself killed."

"Not if we're there," Viren said thoughtfully. "The six of us here could do it. Three and three. Yuan, Kratos and Zaren can get to their machines and shut down the security while the three of us get the people out."

"I'm no good with machines," Zaren told his best friend. Most half-elves weren't, and Viren knew that.

"True, but someone needs to guard them." The General nodded at Yuan and Kratos. "And the inmates might need Healing."

"That's all well and good," Martel said, "But how exactly do you plan to pull this off? We'd have to sneak through human lands—across enemy lines, mind you, because their troops are literally on the other side of those mountains—and sneak back out with dozens, possibly hundreds, of freed slaves."

"A distraction could work." Mithos leaned over the largest map spread between all of them, blue eyes intent. His small fingers traced a path over the largest pass through the mountains. "Here. It's easily defensible, isn't it?"

Kratos peered at it. "Yeah, it is. If we take the high ground, we could hold that spot for hours, maybe even a day. Where's the nearest ranch?"

"Thirty miles west along the mountains," Yuan rattled off. He'd memorized the map as quickly as he'd memorized the spellings of the words that Kratos had taken the time to teach him.

A quick glance at the map proved he was right.

"If we leave earlier than the armies, we could probably get there without having to alert the human army and therefore avoid any extra casualties," Yuan muttered, eyes flashing across the map, collecting data.

Viren glanced at the strange group of four sitting with him. He knew that Zaren was on his side, had been on his side since he'd spoken up for him in the ranch, had taken lashes for him. But these four, their loyalty was to each other first, he knew that, even if they didn't know it yet. "So, you're with me then? You'll go in with me to get those people out?"

The four glanced at each other, Kratos-and-Yuan to Mithos-and-Martel. As one, they nodded. "Yes, we're in."


	50. The First

* * *

 

_There's a graveyard in northern France where all the dead boys from D-Day are buried. The white crosses reach from one horizon to the other. I remember looking it over and thinking it was a forest of graves. But the rows were like this, dizzying, diagonal, perfectly straight, so after all it wasn't a forest but an orchard of graves. Nothing to do with nature, unless you count human nature.  
~Barbara Kingsolver, **Animal Dreams**_

* * *

 

"That's a ranch?" Yuan asked, looking down at the place.

Two long, narrow buildings were placed side by side on the far end, outwards towards the plains that stretched long to the horizon. There were another few buildings, simple and boxy, placed closer to the mountains, some with multiple floors or connected to the others with hallways. The fences built around it were high, and even from up in their vantage point at a cliff that jutted out from the mountains, he could see the guards. Something about the place made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

Zaren's fists clenched and his knuckles were bloodless. His tension made the strong muscles in his forearms stand out, as well as the numbers tattooed there. "That's a ranch."

They're waiting for the guard shift. It's still early, terribly early, and the sun wasn't visible on this end of the mountains yet. Mithos was sitting in between some tree roots, a bizarre mixture of small and dangerous. He had a sword strapped to his built—a short sword, to be sure, but Yuan knew that the blade was honed and that the sword wasn't the most dangerous thing about him. Neither was the magic. It was how utterly _not_ dangerous he looked at first, and even second, glance.

Martel was looking out at the world, leaning on her staff, and Yuan wondered what it was that she saw, exactly. She wasn't wearing her dress _(She only has the one and she usually tries to keep it as clean as possible.)_ and she looked different like this, fiercer. The breeches fit well, at least, but the shirt was a size too big. Her hair was braided back and wrapped in a bun, so as to prevent anyone from using it as a hold.

_(They've all been affected by the war, but Yuan thinks that it's most obvious in Martel. Because she was so very strong, so very steel-spined. She doesn't break under the grief like a lot of the men have. It had hollowed her out and she'd filled it with something that burned rather than the something that had been there before, which had simply glowed. But burn or glow, Martel is still the woman he's going to marry. Yuan can feel that, the same way he can feel the lightning buzzing in his skin)_

"Why us?" Martel asked suddenly. They all looked at her, but her eyes were on Viren. "Why choose us for this? There are a hundred mages older and more experienced," Martel didn't add that they were more skilled than her brother because he was something _more_. "Than Mithos, and you could have chosen any Healer."

But Viren saw through the first question with the ease of a strategist, both mental and physical. "Because Mithos is the most skilled mage we have and because, with so few of us, we need the strongest we have to be able to take this place down. As for why you," Viren paused at that, trying to find words. But there weren't many words he could find for Martel. She had something about her that was calming, yet inspiring at the same time. In the old legends, he thought, she would have been the woman who would have had wars fought and worlds changed for her. "You're a good Healer in a crisis and I wasn't foolish enough to think you were going to stay behind while Mithos came with us."

She studied him with narrowed eyes, but seemed to accept the answer because she smiled, a wry twist of the lips. "Well, you're right about that."

Yuan glanced over at Kratos, who hadn't said a word most of the morning. It wasn't entirely surprising; Kratos wasn't a morning person by any standards, never had been. But this was a different kind of quiet. He nudged Kratos' shoulder with his foot, which was the only part of his body he could reach since he was up in the tree.

"Hey," He said, voice low. "You alright?"

"Just thinking."

Kratos wasn't lying. He had been thinking. But it wasn't a place his thoughts normally wandered to and it wasn't a particularly pleasant place. His father had been a general. Kratos remembered asking about it Before _(It's Before Yuan because Before that, Kratos finds it hard for anything to compare to After him)_ , when he was very young. There had been stars on his father's shoulder, and Kratos had always liked stars. He'd asked if they stood for anything.

_Sandor Aurion looked down at his son. Small, still, with large, curious eyes. How very like his mother he was and so very little like him. Sandor hoped that Kratos would grow more like him, would be able to see the world as he saw it. "Yes, Kratos?"_

_Kratos tapped at the stars on the shoulders of Sandor's uniform jacket that he had yet to put on. "Whaddo these mean?"_

_"They tell people what my rank is."_

_"Whas rank?"_

_"It's like…school grades." Kratos' brow furrowed in confusion. Sandor recognized the expression, had seen it in the mirror sometimes. "Every year, you go to a new grade and you're above the new kids, right?" Kratos nodded. "Rank is like that."_

_"Oh…what rank're you?"_

_"I'm a general."_

_"Oh."_

Kratos remembered liking to run his hands across his father's stars, liking the texture and the cool metal.

"You're spacing out on me," Yuan said, suddenly much closer than he had been. Kratos hadn't even seen him jump from the tree branch. He tilted his head in that curious way of his. "What's goin' through your head?"

"My father." Kratos saw the automatic clenching of Yuan's jaw.

"What about him?"

Kratos' eyes travelled to where Viren was keeping a close eye on the ranch. "He was a general too, remember?" He didn't turn when Noishe's beak gently bumped his shoulder. They'd all agreed that Noishe was too noticeable to take into the ranch, but that he would be good as an extra guard for the rescued people and he could carry someone if they couldn't walk.

Yuan frowned, understanding the words, but not the context. It wasn't often that he didn't understand what Kratos meant. "Yeah. What about him?"

"He didn't usually go into the field."

The thought connected and Yuan made a sound of understanding. "You don't trust him."

"I want to," Kratos said truthfully. He liked Viren; he had a kind of strange kind of sincere, stubborn helpfulness paired with a quick wit. But something about all this didn't smell right.

"Guard shift," the General's voice called, soft, stern and steady. Kratos patted Noishe, who trilled and nipped at his ear. "Let's start heading down there."

* * *

 

In the half-light of the early morning, it had been easy enough to scale the fence surrounding the ranch, but now that they were in here, they didn't know exactly where to go.

"Should've gotten a map," Zaren muttered.

"If it's anything like the other ranches, it won't be difficult to find them," Viren said, scanning the area. "The half-elves are probably in those buildings, but there'll be guards at the doors and some kind of technology that creates their own version of a barrier."

"Let us take care of the technology," Kratos told him. "You take out the guards."

"Hey—hey, Mithos!" They all whirled at the sound of Yuan's voice. Mithos had one hand on the wall as if holding himself upright, his face too pale and tinged with green. Martel was beside him in an instant.

"What hurts?" she asked, suddenly all Healer as she scanned him for any injuries.

"Nothing." Mithos closed his eyes, but he could still see it. _(The mana here is twisted, warped, not natural and not healthy. It pounds in his head and builds pressure behind his eyes, but it isn't pain. Just a sense of_ wrongness. _The colors are poisonous greens and violent violets; garish reds and terribly inky black. That connotation of color doesn't belong in mana._ ) "This place feels wrong," Mithos said, still trying to get rid of the terrible colors that he thought would be painted on the insides of his eyelids until the world came down around their ears. "It's sick."

Martel couldn't do more than simply hold him. Could only kiss his hair and hope that it got better. This wasn't something she knew how to heal, wasn't something she thought really could be healed.

"It could be the magitechnology," Yuan suggested. "It's not real mana, what they're producing to use those machines. It's a weird mixture of electricity and some other kind of thing they figured out that mimics what we use mana for."

Viren glanced between the buildings and Mithos. "Are you good to go on?"

It wasn't a bad question, considering the circumstances, but Yuan thought that the question itself was a rather stupid one when you considered the person being asked. Mithos was one of the most stubborn people he'd ever met—including Kratos and Martel, naturally—and he was always good on his word. Since he'd said he was going to help get the slaves out of this ranch, come hell or high water, he was getting these slaves out.

Mithos nodded and, while he still looked fair shaky on his legs, there wasn't any brushing aside the fire in those eyes of his. "I'm good."

* * *

 

Despite what he'd told Viren, Yuan didn't have much experience with magitechnology at all. His knowledge was Kratos', but he had no application, no idea if his knowledge would mean anything when he actually sat down to do it. Or stood, as was the case.

They'd split up, with glances back at each other over their shoulders. Something about this felt very final. _(It feels like an ending and a beginning and shouldn't this be happening to someone else? Someone older or wiser or more experienced? After all, things like this only happened to legends and heroes and Spirits knew that they weren't anything like those.)_

Yuan thought that they should have felt guilty about the guards they had to go through _(Literally because this is war and it was Them or the humans and They would always win out)_ but he didn't. He knew that he would feel guilty and tortured later, in the safety of their cots and bunks and Kratos would be a solid presence beside him because it was simply one of Those Nights when the nightmares were too near.

"This place is unnatural," Zaren muttered and his grip on his swords was tight, his shoulders tense.

"That's why we're getting them out," Kratos said with a terrible calm that Yuan didn't think he was ever going to get used to. Where was his coward? His dreamer and writer who liked to find pictures and stories in the stars?

_(Logically, Yuan knows that it's a defense mechanism. He's read about those while Kratos did his homework, in those scientific books that the humans had used to teach back in the military school. He knows that it's the only reason that Kratos hasn't broken yet. That doesn't make it any easier to see it)_

Yuan felt the moment when they turned off the magitechnology. The poison in the air _(Mithos isn't crazy. Yuan can feel it too, a terrible, oily thickness on his skin)_ lessened and Yuan could breathe without feeling a tightness to his chest.

He'd been about to turn away from the monitor when something caught his eye. "Guys, look at this."

Kratos peered over his shoulder curiously, but Zaren stayed back a bit. "What is it?"

Yuan's first thought was why didn't Zaren see for himself, but then he remembered that Zaren didn't know how to read, and then it was how long had he been so removed from his people that the thought that they could read was so automatic?

"They're plans," Kratos said, looking over the screen that Yuan had pulled up. "And that's a message to the head of this ranch. They're planning on rebreaking our lines."

"How?" Zaren asked, suddenly closer and looking at the screen as though he could understand what it showed. "Where?"

"Down towards the other end of these mountains." Kratos glanced up at Zaren. "Is there another pass through these mountains?"

"At this time of year? Maybe. Depends on how quick the frost is setting in up there."

Yuan checked his mental calendar. September was nearing its end and it was still fairly warm during the day but the nights were chilly and the days had only been getting colder. High in the mountains, the snow might very well have already started falling.

"Don't the humans have machines that can get through the snow?" Yuan asked.

"If they do, I haven't heard of it." Kratos knew that it was perfectly likely that a machine like that could have been invented since he and Yuan had run away. "We need to get going."

"Yeah…" Yuan tugged his eyes away from the screen, trying to make sure he remembered every word on it. "Let's go."

* * *

 

The guards where the slaves had been kept were in pieces. If they were lucky. By now, Yuan had become accustomed to just how powerful Mithos and Martel's magic could be and Viren was deadly with a sharp object in his hands.

They were helping slaves out of the buildings. Some of the slaves were limping, others supporting each other and some, very few, were walking on their own. They were painfully thin and their haggard faces were dazed, as though they couldn't believe that this was happening. Yuan flinched at the sight of some of their naked backs, scars and fresh lashes both crisscrossed across them. Martel was healing the ones who were the worst off and the pale green glow of her healing magic lit up some of their faces eerily.

At the sight of Kratos, many of the half-elves turned wary, some bristling and others hunching away from him. One spit at his feet, hollow eyes burning with loathing. Yuan instinctively stepped in front of his best friend, wanting to explain that this wasn't what they thought, that Kratos was here to help. But he knew just by looking at them that they were like Zaren; they wouldn't believe him. They might one day, but not now.

"We need to get out of here." Viren said. Yuan swallowed hard at the sight of the child in Viren's arms. The child looked like little more than a skeleton sheathed in sickly skin and her hands were tightly gripping his shirt, face buried in his shoulder. "We can't know how many of their guards are here or when they're coming by and we still have to get past the army."

* * *

 

It was slow going. They should have brought supplies, Viren thought, the little girl still in his arms. She refused to let go of him. Most of the half-elves kept a wide berth from Kratos, who hung back as rear guard. Noishe was with him and the children had looked at the bird curiously, their eyes lighting up in their gaunt faces.

Noishe had a pregnant woman on his back and the children were fascinated with his feathers, gently stroking them. One of the braver children—a boy who looked maybe eight, but who could have been older—had looked at Kratos and asked what the bird's name was. Kratos had smiled and told him.

"He's good with kids," Viren said to Yuan, who had a man's arm slung over his shoulder, supporting him as best he could.

Yuan glanced back, unsurprised and pleased to see the children tentatively trusting his best friend. _(He doesn't know it now, but what he sees before him is the seeds of the new generation. Half-elven children, perhaps still afraid or mistrusting of humans, but willing to change and trust)_ "He's always been like that."

"…I think I owe you an apology, Yuan. And Kratos too." Yuan frowned at him in confusion. "When we first met, I think I sounded like I didn't trust or approve of the two of you."

"Don't act like you did at first. No one does."

"Even Martel?" Viren looked over at the woman, who was looking tired already, having to still stop and help heal people. She was stronger than anyone could ever see at first sight.

Yuan shook his head. "She tried to, but she wasn't comfortable around Kratos for a long time."

"…You love her, don't you?"

"What makes you think that?" In truth, Yuan thought he did. In fact, he was almost sure of it. The only problem was, he'd never been in love before, so he couldn't be completely sure.

Viren smiled and nodded at Zaren's back, several yards ahead of them. "Because you look the same as he did. Still does, sometimes, actually."

It felt strange, to think of his brother in love. The man Yuan was supporting raised his head a little, eyes brighter beneath the mop of hair. They were different colors, Yuan noted. One eye a strange pale yellow and the other dark as night. "My wife…where she?"

"What's your wife look like?"

"Pregnant," the man muttered. "My wife and son…"

Yuan glanced back at the woman that Noishe carried on his back. "What does she look like?"

His head shot up. "Is she here?"

"I don't know. What's her name?"

"Lira. Lira and the boy…the boy would be Nathel."

Viren hung back until Noishe was level with him. The woman turned to him. She must have been pretty, once. But now, her hair—the pale color of winter skies—hung lank and tangled around her face, her lavender eyes dim. "Are you Lira?" he asked gently.

The woman shook her head. "No. I knew Lira. They—they killed her. Because she couldn't work anymore. Too heavy with child."

"And you?"

The woman didn't look at him. "…He said that he could get me out. Of the ranch. He promised me. So I—"

"It's alright," Viren soothed.

"What will become of the child?" the woman asked fearfully. "It wouldn't even be half-elven, but something…worse. Diluted. And everyone would know what I-"

"I'm not completely human," Kratos said suddenly and they both looked over. "Your child wouldn't be so different."

"You think so?"

"Yeah." Kratos glanced around, at Mithos, who was smiling with some of the other children, at Martel, at Yuan. "You don't have to worry about your kid. People can surprise you."

She studied him. "Yes…I suppose they can."


	51. Aftermath

* * *

 

_"Your men love you. If I knew nothing else about you, that would be enough."_   
_-Prince Edward **(A Knight's Tale)**_

* * *

 

"How are they?" Kratos asked. They'd managed to return to camp with little incident, somehow. Martel said that the Summon Spirits had been watching over them. Zaren had called it damn lucky.

Yuan was stretched out on a cot, looking tired. But then, they all looked tired these days. "They're getting fed some stew and looked over properly for medical issues. The hard part is finding beds for everyone."

"They should be in the capital. Not on the warfront. They won't get better here, and supplies are getting stretched as it is."

"Mm. But the problem is, they're not really fit for such a distance just yet."

"It's going to get cold soon," Kratos said, toeing off his boots. "They really won't be able to travel then."

"We'll figure it out." Yuan quieted, eyes haunted. "…There were so many kids there, Kratos."

Kratos knew their faces well by now. They hadn't wanted to stray far from Noishe, and they'd slowly become acclimated to him over the half days' walk back to camp. The kids smiled small, like they were afraid that he would wipe the smiles away. But their eyes, dimmed by the horrors of whatever had happened in the ranch, were slowly brightening. Kids bounced back so quickly sometimes.

"Maybe one day, they'll be able to forget about all of this," Kratos said. "Or it'll be something they only remember in their nightmares."

"I doubt it." Yuan sat up, wrapping his arms around his knees. "…That would've been me, Kratos, if it weren't for your father."

They didn't like to think about it--Yuan in particular didn't like the idea of having to be grateful to Sandor Aurion for anything--but after seeing those kids and seeing the changes that being in the ranch had wrought in his brother…

"…How many years has it been, Yuan?"

The half-elf glanced over. As much as they'd both changed, he still saw the same kid. And most of the time, he felt like he hadn't changed, like Time had left him alone, though he knew that that wasn't true. Yuan didn't need to ask what Kratos meant and, for a moment, he didn't know the answer. "'Bout four, maybe five."

"You don't know, do you?" Kratos knew that time didn't pass for Yuan the same way it did for him and it was only more noticeable as they'd gotten older.

Yuan shook his head. There was no point in lying. "Not for sure. Do you?"

"No more than seven. That's as much as I can get."

They lay in their cots, staring at the tent canopy, until Yuan started laughing. Kratos turned his head, cheek against the rough material of his pillow to stare at him. "What's wrong with you?"

Yuan grinned at him. "I think this means we're old men now, Kratos, if the years are blending together like this."

_(He remembers the old men in his village, the ones who would sit on their stools outside or on top of the houses built into the cliffs, smoking at their handmade pipes and laughing in their rough, raspy voices as they shuffled too-thin and too-worn playing cards. He remembers sitting with them sometimes, liking to hear their voices and letting their words and memories wash over him. They forgot a lot of things, like years and dates of events and how old their children were and even how old Yuan was, but he'd loved them)_

Kratos chuckled. "Well, we're looking pretty good in our old age, huh?"

"I'll say."

* * *

 

Kratos poked his head inside Viren and Zaren's tent, unsurprised to see the little girl that hadn't left Viren's side since he'd rescued her from the ranch curled up in his bed, small, too-thin hands clutching at the thin blanket.

"Are you busy?" Kratos asked, voice low so as not to wake the girl. He knew that it was probably the first decent sleep she'd had possibly in years.

Viren shook his head, beads clacking as he sat up from where he'd been stretched out on Zaren's bed. "Just taking some time to not move." Kratos could understand that. When you were constantly travelling and working, times when you could sit and just _breathe_ were precious. "Something wrong?"

"Just wanted to talk to you about something."

Viren seemed to sense that this was going to be a serious conversation. "Let's talk outside."

The camp was still buzzing with activity and Kratos still half-expected to see Martel dashing back and forth between tents and patients, but she'd been ordered to get some food and rest.

"…You're a general, right?" Kratos began, looking around.

"Yes," Viren replied, not entirely sure where the human was going with this.

"So…explain to me why you went with us on that mission." Kratos glanced at him. "Someone as highly ranked as you should be ordering people to do things rather than actually going out and doing them yourself. Particularly for such a high risk mission."

Kratos was smarter than he seemed, even after knowing him for a while, Viren thought. What he said was, "It's a bit more complicated than that."

"I'll bet."

"I'm not the only general that the half-elven army has. That ain't a surprise, I'm sure, but I'm the youngest general. The others….they don't agree with me. They don't think that the half-elves that had been captured were worth rescuing."

That scraped at Kratos' temper. "What?"

"That ain't the worst of it. They've also started to lose hope. Don't think we have any chance of winning, so they want to stop fighting. Some were even talking of surrendering."

"So you don't have any backup then, is that what you're saying?"

"Right. Since I'm the youngest, I got put in charge of this front, which, let's be honest, nothing was supposed to really happen. They wouldn't let me have the people I needed to really get an assault going on the ranches and they refused to try it themselves."

"Which is why you needed us."

"Yes. And I wasn't about to send you guys out there alone. The way I see it, if I'm gonna ask you to do something, I should be willin' to do the same thing."

Kratos liked that idea, liked the kind of leader it made Viren and he would be unsurprised when he went back through his memories to find that his father was nowhere near that kind of leader. "Why didn't you tell us the first time you asked?"

"Honestly, I don't know."

"I think I do. You didn't trust me then. You might not even trust me now."

Subtle as a cannon, he was. "Is that what you think?"

"Am I wrong?"

"Not completely. What made you think about all this?"

Kratos shrugged and suddenly, any of that stubborn certainty and confidence was gone. "I was just thinking, before we went into the ranch, and I remembered my father."

"Why would—"

"My father was a general in the human army. As far as I know, he still is one. I never saw him really go into the field while I was growing up, so I thought it was strange that you were."

"You know their tactics."

"Unless they changed them since I've been gone, yes."

Viren rubbed his hand against his lips. "This is going to sound strange."

"I've probably heard stranger."

"You can help the army. You know your people well enough that you could predict them."

"Uh-huh." Kratos had been doing that, to a certain extent. Myra and Alstan were willing to listen to him when he told them his thoughts on a situation, but few others were willing to trust him like that.

"If you do that, it could be possible to convince the other generals to free the people trapped in the ranches."

"Do we have the manpower to spare for that?"

"I don't know yet. I'd have to look it all over. But would you do it?"

"Of course." Viren had never heard a human so quick to help half-elves. He still found it disconcerting, how similar Kratos felt. It was like another half-elf. "It won't be easy, though."

"No. But most things aren't. Particularly the ones worth doing."

Kratos nodded and glanced up at the sky. "It's getting late. I'm going to head back."

Viren said something in a language Kratos couldn't recognize, one that sounded rough, but not unpleasant.

"What does that mean?"

Viren's smile was tired and worn away at the edges. "May Efreet watch over and guide you. It's something that's said for partings in my village."

Kratos smiled. "I think I'd like to see your village one day."

"When this is over, maybe," Viren said.

"Then hopefully, it'll be over soon."


	52. Dreaming

 

* * *

 

_"What could you make of that, except to suspect some intensity in his conception of the affair that couldn't be measured?"  
-The Great Gatsby—F. Scott Fitzgerald_

 

* * *

 

 

"What is that?"

Martel looked up, unsurprised to see Yuan. The four of them had been more or less ordered to not so much as step near the battlefield for a week. Or the clinic unless it was an absolute emergency, but that had been added as an afterthought.

"I used to know the word for it in elven, but I've forgotten it by now. I think humans call it quartz though." She held up the rock and it reflected the light powerfully.

"Quartz." The new word was awkward in Yuan's mouth even as Martel handed him the stone and he turned it over in his hands. The stone was pale pink, almost see-through. "Where'd you find this?"

"Out in the mountains when we were travelling back." Martel leaned back against the garden wall. It was very nearly winter soon, she could feel it. And the air had that crisp chill that was often the only warning sign. "You know, there's an elven city made entirely of quartz."

"You've seen it?" Yuan could imagine it, almost. Some details escaped his mind, but he both like what he imagined and he didn't. It seemed too unnatural, an entire city built of this stone. It didn't have the same earthy quality that half-elven villages had.

"Once. It was summer then and all that quartz was reflecting and shining in the sun. They had towers so high, I thought that they were trying to get higher than the clouds. It was beautiful."

His lips quirked in a smile. "I thought all the elven cities were beautiful."

"I don't know. I've never seen most of them. But then, neither have most people. The elves love their secrecy too much."

"Mm. One day, we'll travel without this stupid war hanging over our heads and we can sleep easy under the stars."

"You dream real big, you know that?"

"And you don't?" Yuan said, smiling when she scrunched her nose, knowing he was right. "…Would you go with me? On a trip like that, I mean."

"Of course I would." She didn't even have to think about it.

His eyes lit up like a flare of fire even as his smile widened and he leaned back on his hands. He looked up as something cold dropped on his nose. "It's snowing."

Martel followed his eyes. "You know what I remember my father telling me once? That snow is actually small ice faeries, who kiss your skin before they melt away."

"I like that." And even though Yuan was getting a little cold, sitting here on the hard dirt, he had no want to move. Like here, in the midst of everything that was going on, there was some measure of a strange sort of serenity.

"I thought you would." Martel shifted so she could lean her head on his shoulder, content to not stand. "You like stories."

"Did I ever tell you about the one about the man with all the powers of Efreet?" Yuan knew that the stories that half-elves were told as children often changed by how close you were to the Summon Spirit and what region you were from. He'd heard four different versions of how Origin became the King and two of Celsius and her lover.

"I don't think so."

And so Yuan told her of the babe who was abandoned at the stairs of Efreet's temple. Efreet, taking pity on the child, raised him and so the child learned the art of fire magic. After the child was grown, he left the temple to travel the world he had never seen. During his travels, he fell in love with a woman, but the woman died soon after their marriage. Filled with grief and longing for her presence, the man wrote her name in the sky with fire so that the stars could whisper it back to him every night.

"…Do you ever wonder why we know such sad stories?" Martel asked.

Yuan shrugged a little. "I always figured that we had them because, otherwise, every story would feel the same because we wouldn't know what happy was without them."

Martel hummed in interest. "…D'you think you could ever go so far for someone you love?"

"What, like writing a name in the stars or travelling to Death's lair?" Yuan asked, remembering the stories he'd been told.

"Yeah. Would you ever be willing to do that?"

Yuan watched her. Her skin was settled a little too closely to bone thanks to thin rations, and her hair had some leaves tangled in it. Her freckles had only increased after so much time in the sun and he knew her hands were rough with callouses.

She was lovely.

"…Yeah. I would," he said. "If I loved them, I would."

 


	53. Leaps in Logic

* * *

 

_Great ideas need landing gear as well as wings._   
_~C.D. Jackson_

* * *

 

They're woken by a loud hiss of a whisper. They were alert in an instant, hands flying to blades kept beneath pillows and beside the beds as they blink through the cobwebs that lace sleep. A familiar blonde head hovered in the darkness and they replaced their weapons with sleepy grumbles.

"Somethin' wrong, Mithos?" Yuan asked, arm over his eyes, resigning himself to being awake. From what he could hear, Kratos was still fighting the battle to get away from sleep's wonderful clutches.

"I was thinking--"

"So that was that burning smell."

"Would you let me finish?"

"You had to have this epiphany now? Couldn't it wait until a decent hour?"

"That's the point of an epiphany, Yuan," Kratos pointed out with a yawn. "It happens suddenly."

"But he doesn't need to _know_ that. And why're you on his side? I'm trying to get us more sleep."

"Guys." Mithos knew if he didn't say something, they'd keep going, sleepy or not.

Two pairs of sleep-blurred eyes—one blue, the other red-tinged brown—locked on him. "So what's this idea of yours?"

"Viren said something about us not having the manpower to take on the ranches, right?" They nodded. "This is gonna sound crazy—"

"We're used to it by now."

"…Do you think that the Summon Spirits actually exist?"

Yuan sat up abruptly at that. He was used to Mithos making mental jumps that left the rest of them wondering how he got from point A to point K, but this was beyond point K. This was like point V. " _What?"_

Mithos shifted, chin tilted defensively. "Answer the question."

"I dunno, I guess." Yuan had never had to think about this. Summon Spirits existed. Period. Or, that was the way he was raised. He'd never thought about the actual physical possibilities of it.

Mithos' eyes slid to Kratos, who seemed to genuinely be thinking about it. Then again, Yuan thought, he hadn't been raised with it; he hadn't known the tradition of going to temple once a week and lighting the candles for lost loved ones, the candles that, it was said, the Sylph saw and would guide those lost back home. To Kratos, the Summon Spirits had been near-forgotten remnants of a religion that humans didn't believe in anymore, names and celebrations still lingering, but little else.

"…I think they could," Kratos said, half-turned and leaning on an elbow. "Where're you going with this?"

"I read in them mage books—"

"Those," Yuan-and-Kratos said without thinking. "Those mage books."

"Those mage books," Mithos repeated dutifully. "That there were people who could make—I think they called them pacts. Yeah that sounds right—pacts with Summon Spirits. They could control that kind of magic. And-and it fits with all the stories."

Kratos frowned. "Which stories?"

"The constellation ones." Mithos rounded on Yuan. "You told Martel a story of an orphan left to Efreet, right?"

"Yeah…"

"That orphan was said to have all the powers of Efreet. What if the story changed somewhere over the centuries? What if he wasn't left there? What if that orphan was a summoner?"

"Mithos, that's a longshot if I've ever seen one."

"But if it's real, then we can free those people and maybe even make a real difference in this war."

Kratos sat up fully, crossing his legs and swiping his hair irritably out of his face. "Mithos…what happens if this doesn't work? Did you ever think about that?"

"I-I thought that there could be another way. This war—it can't go on forever."

"All evidence to the contrary," Yuan muttered.

_(The newspapers had always been there, saying things about the war that he never knew. The photos had always been there, showing the same faces, smiling and innocent and unblooded. His mother, always having her days. All the men in the village, always gone. Away at the war. His aunts—and they're not really related, but they're all he has in that category—always gossiping about war brides and how long it would be until someone came back. They never talked about someone never coming back)_

"Things can change," Mithos insisted, as stubborn as ever. Martel was always saying that Mithos learned his stubbornness from Kratos, but she knew as well as they did that he'd learned it from her.

"I hope you're right, kid."


	54. Silence Broken

* * *

 

 _Don't live down to expectations. Go out there and do something remarkable._  
~Wendy Wasserstein  


* * *

 

He'd been around forever. Or at least, that's what it seemed like. No one seemed to remember him ever arriving in the capital. He'd simply always been there.

He was one of those men that seemed both timeless and aged. He was old enough to have wrinkles carved into his skin, but they were not so deep as the scars. The scars were old, some nearly blending into brown, smooth skin. But there were rougher ones. A jagged one bisected the right half of his face and another cut diagonally across his lips. There were more, many more, too many to count.

His hair was short, coal black with ash streaking through it. He wore his beard neatly trimmed and it almost hid the thin scar that traced up from his throat. _(Theories have been running around since he first came, though no one remembers specifically when that was, that the original wound was much worse and it had made him mute, for no one ever heard him speak a word)_

His smithy was a little box of a building with holes cut out, most for ventilation, but one that counted as a door. The forge was all clean lines of worn bricks, his tools kept neat and polished. He liked to work inside, away from the sun's harsh light. There was pottery on the shelves, though most of the bowls and vases were empty of anything but air.

The first time Kratos met him, it's a few days after he's no longer fully human and was still trying to get used to the idea that Yuan's blood ran inside him. He's tired of seeing the same sites, so he walked around—carefully, mind you and never without Noishe's familiar protective presence—and he found the little boxy smithy with the brick forge and the scarred man inside.

The first time, Kratos said, good afternoon and asked several questions, but when the blacksmith refused to speak, Kratos fell silent.

_(He comes often, despite the lack of words in the air. The forge is pleasantly quiet and the blacksmith, whoever he is, never seems to mind his presence despite his being obviously human.)_

* * *

 

"Good morning," Kratos greeted, even though he knew the blacksmith would do little more than nod in return before going back to his work.

The man's eyes—sharp and dark like obsidian—glanced up at him. "Is it true?"

At first, Kratos thought he was hearing things. Voices didn't really belong in this place. "What?"

The man cleared his throat. His voice still came out a bit raspy and hoarse."Rumors been goin' around that says you and your friends got a plan tha's ten pounds o' crazy in a six pound bag."

"Rumors spread quick around here, don't they?"

"Suppose you should be used to this, boy. They true?"

Kratos thought on the plan that the four of them had been slowly concocting at mealtimes. Mithos' theory of the Summon Spirits—something about it felt very right and more research into the subject hadn't provided anything that discounted it. "…That would depend on what you've heard."

"The Spirits," The blacksmith said it like most half-elves said it; something that was irrefutable and there, despite their never having seen it. Like music in the air, Martel had described it once.

"We haven't decided anything yet, but yes. That's the plan."

The blacksmith shook his head. "'S no use."

Kratos tilted his head curiously. Despite the man hardly ever saying a word, he had such interesting things to say. "Why d'you say that? Don't you believe in the Summon Spirits?"

"A bit."

Kratos' eyes slid to the carefully crafted bronze emblem—small enough that it could fit in the palm of his hand—that hung above the forge. "Isn't that Efreet's symbol?"

The blacksmith grunted, unfolding himself from the floor so that he could get a small hammer from the rack. He was built thick and powerful, very un-elf-like. Really, the only hints at his heritage as being anything less than pure human were the angles at the edges of his eyes and the triangular tips to his ears, but even those were less pronounced than most.

"What's it for?"

"Protection an' blessin's on any metal the fire touches." The blacksmith was only half paying attention to him, Kratos could tell. The dark, shiny eyes were intent on his work—a thin, long sword with a gracefully twisted hilt.

"So you believe in them when it suits you?" From anyone else, the words would have been harsh or accusing. From Kratos, it was simply a question.

"They ain't done much for the world so far, have they? Look at these times. Death, war, plagues 'n famine. If they existed, we'd be better off."

Kratos hummed in acknowledgement, but not agreement. He still found the notion of believing in the Summon Spirits as deities rather strange. "…Why today?"

The man didn't look up, but Kratos felt the question.

"Why speak to me today?"

"Because you don' look like a stupid person to me. Yer supposed ter be too smart for crazy things like this."

Kratos shrugged. "Crazy or not, it's our only shot."

"For what?"

"To free those other people still trapped in the ranches. For any chance at peace!"

"You think stronger weapons means peace?"

"Of course."

The blacksmith snorted, shaking his head. "You're very young, or very human."

"Or I'm both," Kratos offered, which only made the blacksmith snort again.

"Even worse."


	55. Concerning War and Love: Part One

* * *

 

_In war, there are no unwounded soldiers.  
~José Narosky_

* * *

 

The city was beautiful, or, it might have been, Before. The smooth, pale stone still showed through in places beneath the smears of ash. The glass in the windows was of some of the finest quality, but dust had settled there in layers. No one had time to get a really good cleaning in these days. Elevated roads sloped above the ones on the ground and the torches sent their glow to flicker to far streets and across the darkening sky. The people here wore turbans wrapped around their heads and loose cotton robes; they were brown-skinned and friendly enough, if more than a little wary of Kratos.

"I think I have sand in places I didn't know sand could get to," Yuan said, slightly irritated. "Why'd I agree to this again?"

Kratos chuckled a little, making his best friend shoot him a dirty look. "Stop exaggerating."

"I'm not! I'm serious—I really didn't know that sand could get—"

Kratos held up a hand. "Yuan, I love you, but I really don't want to know where the sand got."

"See, I don't get it." Kratos frowned, in confusion to the statement and at how Yuan lowered his voice. "You and I tell each other we 'I love you' all the time, right?"

"Yeah, I guess." Kratos had never thought much of it. It had always been a simple statement of fact.

"So why is it that I can say it so easily to you and I can't even get the words halfway out of my mouth to Martel?"

Kratos shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe it's 'cause you've known me longer?"

Yuan looked at Kratos and thought, maybe things hadn't changed as much as they'd been thinking. They were still stuck here, in the same place. The two of them trying to figure out the world.

"What is your purpose here?"

The four of them looked up at the speaker. He was a tall man, dark hair falling straight past his shoulders. A string of white beads braided into his hair fell nearly to his collarbone and there was a tattoo on his forehead, black and red against his brown skin, that was reminiscent of flames and seemed to flicker with the thin wrinkles on his face as his expressions changed. There was a curved sword at his hip and his arms were thickly corded with muscles, which his robes did little to conceal. His robes were sleeveless and the color of evening sand with designs running along the hems.

"We need some information," Mithos said, and Kratos wondered how Mithos wasn't afraid of the man, as he knew he would have been if he'd seen him at ten years old.

"What about?"

"Efreet."

The man frowned. "A strange group for a pilgrimage and a strange time to choose to make one."

Martel glanced around at the people looking on curiously. "Could we speak to you somewhere in private?"

The man glanced at her and nodded before looking to Kratos. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to give up your sword." He watched, interested, as the manchild instinctively curled a hand closer to his sword before he complied easily.

"You don't trust him?" It was the other half-elf, the blue-haired one beside the human, who spoke up, undercurrents of anger coloring his voice. But it wasn't true anger, but the automatic bristling of someone who had heard the same thing too many times.

"Yuan," the human said quietly. "He's got more than enough reason not to."

"I have not known him long enough to pass judgment, but I know these people. They've been hurt too much by the humans to trust one in their village with a weapon so easily."

The man led them through the ash-dusted, sand-gritty village to a stone house built partially into a cliff in a way that made Yuan suddenly ache for his home village.

The inside of the house was…bold. That was the first word to come to Kratos' mind. There was none of the soft, blurred colors that he'd come to accept as part of half-elven culture—not pastels and they'd never been washed out, but they'd always had a quality to their patterns and dyes that made everything soften.

Not so in this house. The rug drew his attention first. Uneven stripes slashed across it horizontally in sunset hues. There were cushions on the rug, in equally bold colors, as well as a tapestry that looked rough to the touch, but was still rather well made, that hung on the wall. The walls were the color of warm sand—most likely, it was entirely natural, Kratos thought—and there were thorny plants in the windows. With all that color, it made the wood furniture seem washed out in comparison, paled by long hours in the sun.

"Please, take a seat," the man said. "I would offer you something to drink, but it's the dry season for another month at least."

Mithos plopped down on one of the cushions without needing another invitation. Martel had glanced around, looking for perhaps a table or proper chairs, before kneeling beside her brother when she couldn't find any. Kratos and Yuan followed her lead.

"So, your story?" the man prompted, joining them on the cushions.

"We're from the military," Mithos began and Yuan had to give him points for having the courage to jump straight into it like that. "The war…it isn't going well. Our side's hangin' on by a thread and the humans still have our people in their ranches."

"Yes, I expect they do. What does that have to do with Efreet?"

"Our side might not have much in terms of manpower, but our people are strong individually. I want to know something of summoning."

"Summoning?" the man repeated, surprised. "Why?"

"'S the only thing I can thing I can think of that could give us the strength to make a real difference in the war."

"I agree with you from a military point of view—"

"But?" Kratos said.

The man glanced at him. "But I'm more than simply a warrior for my village. I'm our summoner as well. I have a pact with Efreet. It's his blessings what's been holding our village together in these times."

Rather than being shocked, like the rest of them were, Mithos simply leaned forward eagerly. "So it's possible then?"

"Of course it is."

"You won't give up the pact, will you?" Martel said. "Not for the war."

"To be honest, I don' like the idea. Efreet—he's dangerous. Likes to hold grudges. I've held this pact since I was ten years old. Our village has grown around Efreet's temple. He's seen all that's happened to us and I can' imagine that he'd be very…forgiving…of any humans that crossed him."

"We've been thinking of a way to end this war that isn't with fighting."

The man's eyes—like twin setting suns ringed with coal—widened. "Is that even possible?"

"There should be a way," Mithos insisted. "The world can't be only war."

"Boy, I want to agree with you, but I'm turning eighty-seven and even I can't remember when this war started. Or why."

"But that's my _point_. We don't even know why we started fighting in the first place. Someone has to put a stop to all this before humans and half-elves completely wipe each other out."

"And they can," Kratos spoke up suddenly. "There've been rumors of the humans developing a new weapon, a bad one. One that makes the bombs they've dropped look like bubbles popping."

The man narrowed his eyes at him. "How would you know that?"

"The military's managed to infiltrate some of the humans' stuff," Yuan said immediately in Kratos' defense. "I saw some of the blueprints for that weapon myself." It had been a fleeting glance, at the ranch, before he had to find how to turn off the security, but it had been enough.

"Let me see if I understand this; you want to use the Summon Spirits' power to try and make some sort of peace between the humans and the half-elves?"

"With that kind of power, both sides would _have_ to listen to us."

_"You're very young, or very human."_

_"Or I'm both."_

Perhaps, Kratos thought, perhaps everyone was a little human and maybe there was a way to be always young. It was a strange thought, one that he would forget over the years, but at the moment, it seemed to be the truth of the world.

They didn't come to an agreement that day, but neither did the man—the summoner—let them sleep in possibly unfriendly territory. He graciously allowed them to stay in his own house, despite not having spare rooms and only the cushions and some thin blankets to offer.

"…D'you suppose that this is where Zaren was? After he and Viren got out of the ranch," Yuan asked that night, his voice little more than a whisper on the dark. "They talk the same, and they have the same beads."

"Maybe," Kratos agreed, lying on his stomach.

The desert was a mystifying place, so harsh and hot during the day, but cool and contrastingly lovely under the light of the moon and stars. This place was nothing like anywhere he'd ever been; a far reach from his childhood, with humid summers and freezing winters or from the half-elven capital and front lines, where springs came early and autumns were long ones. It was a comfort, to be able to hear Martel's soft breathing near the windows, and Mithos' occasional snore, and Yuan's voice near him, as familiar as his own.

"D'you think Mithos is right?" Kratos asked. "About more power?"

"I think it's our only chance," Yuan said. "What else can we do? The people—on both sides—can't take much more…I—I think the world's breaking. Under the strain of the war, I think it really is."

"Since when are you the poetic one?" But Yuan wasn't being poetic and Kratos knew it. He'd seen it too. Families were being ripped apart, friends were turning on each other _(Just the other day, back in the capital, one of Martel's patients—ribs wrapped in gauze—had looked at him and asked, "How do you know?"_

_"How do I know what?" Kratos had asked, puzzled._

_"How d'you know that they won't turn on you? These people you call friends and-and family?"_

_'Kratos' puzzlement hadn't lifted any. "I just do." he'd replied honestly and the man had scoffed and started mumbling._

_Martel told him, a few days later, that the man's best friend had stabbed him in between the ribs a week ago, waking up in the same tent and not recognizing who lay in the other cot. It had taken a few nights before Kratos could sleep easy again, hoping that the day would never come when Yuan couldn't recognize him.)_

"How is that poetic? It doesn't sound nearly as pretty as the things you've got in those books of yours."

Kratos smiled. "Oh, just _my_ books?" He and Yuan had made it a point whenever they were in human lands to find a bookstore, despite Yuan having to be disguised to do it, and they often 'borrowed' books from the mages' libraries…and forgot to return them.

Yuan chuckled lowly. "Fine, _our_ books."

"…Think that this guy'll let us make a pact with Efreet?"

"I hope so." Yuan paused in thought. "…My village didn't have a summoner. We just left offerings. Maybe that's why this village is so different from ours."

"Different how?"

"It's not something obvious, really. Just kind of the air of the place. The people here, they're scared of what the war could cost them, but it's like…they know the cost and would be willing to pay it, you know?"

Kratos didn't know. He could guess, but he didn't have Yuan's certainty. He didn't reply to him; just stared up at the ceiling, blank and bare, as he listened to Yuan fall asleep.

* * *

 

There's a girl in the kitchen the next morning. She was plain as a cotton shirt, with a thin scar that cut raggedly from her temple down across the arch of her cheekbone to her lip, which made her look like she was always half-smiling at you. She had black curls that bounced when she walked and skin browned from the harsh sun. Her eyes, amber-through-glass, were the only extraordinary thing about her.

She smiled when they walked into the kitchen, already pulling loaves of bread out of the oven. "G'mornin'. Papa said there was company and he's out in the temple, so I thought I'd get to makin' you lot breakfast."

The four of them blinked, still adjusting to the morning. "Uh, thank you…"

"Oh, m'name's Janine." They introduced themselves to her in turn and she shook their hands.

"Is the old man usually out in the temple this early?" Mithos asked.

"Mithos, respect," Martel scolded.

"'M just sayin'."

Janine chuckled, tucking a lock of hair behind an ear as she bent to get more bread from the oven. It was the first time that Yuan really noticed the round curves to her ears and the lack of slant to her eyes. Either Janine had very little elven blood in her, or she was as human as Kratos had been. "It's fine. And yes, he does. Papa rises with the sun and he always goes straight to Efreet to begin the day."

"That doesn't seem strange to you?"

"He's done it every day since he found me."

At first, the wording was strange. To Martel and Mithos, at least. Kratos-and-Yuan understood it with the simple ease that they'd understood, so many years ago, the awkward, fumbling attempts at friendship.

* * *

 

"I found her after an attack on one of the human cities," the man, who by now, has given his name to be Arin, said when he joined them about an hour later. "The city was half in ruins after the battles were done…she was wandering around, looking for her mother. I couldn't simply leave her there."

"I'm surprised that the village accepts her at all," Yuan said because he'd seen the wariness in their eyes when they saw Kratos and he'd also seen, earlier that morning, how the next door neighbor had called good morning to Janine through the window.

"It took some convincing at first, but the village learned to live with it," Arin said, sipping at the cool water in his mug. "Seeing that made me think that perhaps a peaceful way to end this war isn't so impossible."

"So you're willing to help us?" Mithos asked.

Arin chuckled. "You're stubborn, aren't you?"

"You have no idea," Kratos and Yuan chorused, which made Martel laugh.

"I am willing to help, but in order for me to allow you—in good conscience—to make a pact with Efreet, than I'm going to have to teach you our rituals."

Mithos' grin was daring and challenging, and Martel thought that it looked both very young and too old on his face. "I'll learn anything you're willing to teach me."

"There is one problem," Kratos interjected. "We don't want to impose and we don't have the money to stay in the inn for longer than a night or two."

Arin smiled. "My daughter thought of that. She works as a seamstress and helps out often at the inn. She made a deal with the innkeeper that, if you lot are willing to do some work 'round the place, he's willin' to let you stay."

There wasn't a question about it. After all, Mithos was the only real virtuoso where magic was involved, making him the only real possibility to learn summoning. Yuan, while he was good at it, was simultaneously repulsed and entranced by it and Kratos, he was only just beginning to learn magic. Martel didn't like to use magic as a weapon _(Not to say that she can't, because she is a force to be reckoned with and was utterly fearless when backed into a corner)_ , she believed that that wasn't what it was for.

Martel was the first to remember words and manners. "Thank you," she said, bowing from the waist in the fashion of the elves.

Arin shook his head. "No, I think I'll be the one thanking you after this is all done."

Mithos smiled, wry and sparking with humor. "We'll try our best not to let you down."

* * *

 

The innkeeper was a thin woman, with hollow cheeks, thin lips and a hardness in her eyes. _(Her eyes are not so unusual. Everyone they know has those eyes because no one has any memory of a time Before the war. They don't know that there's something wrong with those eyes)_ Janine was curled into a chair by the window, mending what seemed to be sheets with easy, practiced movements of skillful fingers.

She smiled when she saw them. "How was the first day with Papa?" Her question was directed at Mithos. "Was he a hard teacher?"

Mithos shook his head, matching her smile. _(Martel doesn't think he realizes how much he's changed, how much Yuan-and-Kratos have changed him. A few years ago, he would never have smiled at a human, not for anything.)_ "You haven't been taught by half the people I have."

Most of that was Alstan and Myra, but it was also partially Kratos and Yuan because they were always all teaching each other.

Janine glanced at the others, but her eyes kept straying to Kratos. She must not have seen very many humans since she began living in this village. "Lemme guess, you're the teacher?"

Kratos blinked in surprise. "How'd you know?"

Janine laughed. "You and Papa have the same look about you." She looked back at the innkeeper. " Rylene, these're the people I told you about. Kratos, Martel, Mithos and Yuan." She introduced, pointing to each of them in turn."

They half expected Rylene to turn them away, but she just nodded. "So long as you pull your weight, don't cause no trouble, you can stay."

"Thank you," they said sincerely.

The rooms that the innkeeper showed them to were small and vaguely cramped, even with the high ceiling and single wide window. Each room had two straw mattresses covered with thin sheets with faded quilts folded neatly at the foot of each bed. Yuan dropped his bag onto his bed and leaned on the windowsill.

He wasn't accustomed to windows with glass, even after years of living with Kratos at his father's house and working with the half-elven military. They hadn't had glass windows in his village. They'd had holes cut out of the rock that served as the walls of their homes. They'd had small troughs in front of the window to collect water when the rains came. To feel the glass here, it was just strange. Yuan knew that, more than once, he'd found himself tapping against the glass in a sudden, mild case of claustrophobia.

Here, he could see the wide expanse of sand that seemed to never stop and the sky here was a very pure kind of blue without the clouds to hide some of it. This place was the exact opposite of his village. The mountains were fuzzy things in the distance and nothing grew out here.

"I like it here," Yuan said and Kratos glanced back at him.

"How come?"

It was more than the place, more than how the world smelled a bit dusty, but mostly clean here. There was no stink of magitechnology residue here from bombs and bloodstained weapons. It was the people here. Wary perhaps, mistrusting maybe, but they'd not said a word about the strange human and his companions in their village, walking their streets in close proximity to their children.

Yuan smiled sideways at his best friend. "Probably for the same reason you do."

Kratos chuckled. "It is different here, isn't it?"

"Just a little."

* * *

 

The rumors came quick. Fior, the blacksmith's apprentice who was sweet on Janine so he came to visit the inn rather often, had told Rylene about the sunshine-and-summer-sky boy was to be learning the summoner's craft. Mariel, Cavir the tanner's wife, had mentioned that the green-haired woman was a Healer. Others came and went and half of what Rylene heard about her temporary tenants sounded like things out of children's stories. The rest…well, the rest just sounded impossible.

The human, Kratos his name was, he was unfailingly polite, and never seemed to mind taking a moment to chop her some firewood for the cold nights, and was perfectly content to put up laundry to dry. To Rylene, he seemed very little like a soldier, save for the scars on his hands and the sword that she would see the boys practicing with early in the mornings and the knife constantly at his belt.

Yuan was vaguely wary of her at first. She wasn't sure why until she saw just how close Yuan and Kratos were. He was good at folding bedclothes, and wasn't a half-bad cook either, even if his potatoes were rather bland and he sometimes put too much salt on the morning eggs.

"You remind me of someone," Rylene told him once as she plucked the chicken she was going to put in a stew.

No one had ever told him that before. Yuan knew that he and Zaren looked very little alike and no one outside of his village, it seemed, had met or remembered his Poppi and Mama and he doubted anyone could make a connection between him and Dehua or Kail. Despite all this, he said, "I have a brother. I know he spent some time out here, in the desert, but I'm not sure whether it was here specifically."

Rylene studied him with sharp eyes. "…Zaren?"

Yuan blinked in surprise. "Yes. How could you tell?"

"You two got the same nose and yer eyes are shaped the same. And you got that same sense of loyalty he's got."

Yuan thought of Viren and Zaren and wondered if he and Kratos were really like that.

Mithos really was the sunshine-and-summer-sky child that Fior had described him as. And it was more than in looks. Mithos liked to smile and laugh and he had dreams that were several sizes too big for him that Rylene hoped he would grow into. He would tell her about those dreams sometimes, when he would sit on the splintering counter in the kitchen, drying the dishes she would hand him. But something about him felt a little wild too. All of the boys—as Rylene had dubbed them, though Yuan and Kratos were well above the age of majority—had some of that, but with Mithos, there was an extra few touches of it.

Martel, Rylene had decided, was a good influence on all the boys. She was a sweet girl, but there was steel in her spine and spitfire in her soul. Rylene had seen a lot of women back down from the men in their lives, playing the role of meek, obedient female. Martel seemed to refuse to comply with that stereotype. Rylene had seen her argue and debate with the boys over breakfast and laugh with them the next moment.

Rylene wasn't fooled either. There weren't many women out in the battlefields—here, it was very nearly unheard of—but Martel had seen the front. When Rylene asked Martel to get a chicken from the yard for dinner, Martel would snap its neck without a second thought. Not with the efficiency of a wife in the kitchen, but with a soldier's. A Healer Martel might be, but Rylene had no doubt that she could kill just as easily.

* * *

 

There were nights that Yuan couldn't sleep. Well, everyone had nights like that, particularly these days, but where most could at least stay in bed and try to will themselves to sleep, Yuan couldn't. He had to move.

It was one of those nights when Yuan slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Kratos—who had a very special ability to fall sleep anywhere, even when straw from the mattress was poking his cheek—and quietly shut the door to their room behind him. He went up the stairs to the flat-topped roof of the inn _(This, at least, is the same as his village and indeed, all half-elven buildings. Half-elves are nothing if not good at making the most of space and Rylene uses the roof for growing cacti and herbs and there are large jugs that, when the summer storms come in, collect rainwater)_.

Martel whirled when she heard steps on the cool stone of the roof. She relaxed when she saw Yuan's familiar face. "I thought I was the only one awake."

"So did I. What's your reason?"

"Just dreaming," Martel said. She was sitting on a crate, her hair loose for bed and a blanket around her shoulders. Even in the desert, nights were chilly.

"Good ones or bad ones?" Yuan asked, joining her on the crate.

Martel wouldn't look at him, her eyes instead focused on her bare toes. "…Do you ever remember faces?"

Yuan didn't need to ask her to elaborate. Yes, sometimes he remembered faces. Faces of people he killed, people he walked past when heading back to join up with the others, pale, corpse-white faces of people no older than him and they would be lying dead there and none of them were smiling.

"Sometimes."

"I-I can't get this one…Luna, but he wasn't much more than a _kid_. I mean, he looked so _young_ and-and he came up behind me while I was healing someone and he snapped a twig or something, I dunno, so I turn and I-I didn't think, I just acted. The next thing I know, he's lyin' there and he's not moving or breathing or anything…"

Yuan wrapped an arm around her shoulders, tugging her closer. He knew what it was like. He remembered people dead too, but the person that stuck out the most in his mind was Khuey. He and Khuey had been sent out to scout and they'd been trudging through the muck and mud of the heavy spring rains that left the ground soggy and swampy up to their knees and, in places, up to their waist.

Yuan had been looking around a particularly high hill, careful to watch his step, when Khuey had called out to him _("Lookit this, Yuan! Wonder what it is. Real shiny, ain't it? Hey, maybe we can sell this and get some good money off it! Whaddaya think?" Khuey laughs, all bronze bells and bright smiles.)_ Yuan had turned and he'd seen Khuey stand up from his crouch, a glinting piece of metal in his hands, smile on his face. He'd been a handsome kid, always good with the girls. Sandy hair and eyes like the sky recovering from a storm, compact shoulders and large, powerful hands. He'd died in a burst of light before the fire consumed him, lifting him into the air before gravity brought him crashing right back down.

Yuan could remember the white of bone _(Too white, like starch sheets and newly pressed paper)_ the single visible eye, still that sky color that was so very different from the red blood _(Red like cherries and strawberries and fire and heartbreak)_ and the wet yellowness that Yuan guessed was Khuey's gut that didn't belong there. And, for a horrible minute, the heart was beating. The heart that was exposed open to the air, a garish red like berry juice finger-painted along the walls, beat once, twice, thrice before stopping and never starting again.

"I dream too," Yuan told her. "They're…they're not pretty dreams."

Martel could imagine. She remembered having to run with Kratos and Zaren out into the field to try and find Khuey and Yuan, fearing all the possibilities that could've happened. The truth, in ways, was worse than what she'd imagined. "Sometimes, I forget what those're like. Pretty dreams, I mean."

"I think flowers were part of the criteria," Yuan said. "And stars and clouds and unicorns."

"Unicorns are real."

Yuan shook his head. "Once, maybe. Not anymore. I heard they were hunted to extinction."

Martel turned her head to look at him. "Right before we left Heimdall, I remember hearing talk of a tribe of elves who left us 'cause they didn't agree with the things the Elders were doing—or not doing—about the war and apparently, unicorns are really near their territory. Wherever that is."

Yuan smiled, unsure why, but the idea of unicorns, the kind that had been in some of the books that he and Kratos had read at night with just a candle and moonlight through the window, made him want to smile. "I like that. The fact that they're real, I like it."

Martel chuckled a little and tilted her head back to look at the stars. "I think we still have some pretty dreams left in us."

"Yeah? Like what?"

She smiled sideways at him, lovely and utterly ordinary against the backdrop of the night. "Like peace and kids not afraid to play in the streets and humans and half-elves living together. A family. A house and a goat."

"You want a goat?"

Martel shrugged. "I like goat's milk. We didn't have many cows out in Heimdall."

"We had sheep's milk growing up. Then again, we had like sheep everything in my village."

Martel brought her knees up, heels balanced on the edge of the crate and leaned her cheek on her kneecaps. "You were a shepherd?"

"No, I was too young. I would've been. I wanted to be, even. It was like my biggest dream ever, to be just like Zaren and out in the fields with my very own flock."

Martel's laughter was soft and sweet. "You, a shepherd."

Yuan rolled his eyes. "Yes, you've found out my shocking secret."

She eyed him. "You don't look like a shepherd."

"Well…things changed."

Martel shook her head. "Even when I met you, on that boat, before we joined the military, you still didn't look like a shepherd."

"What did I look like then?"

"A sailor," she said, grinning mischievously. With that grin, she looked more like Mithos than ever.

Yuan stuck out his tongue. _(He still stands by the theory that he's seven and twelve and thirteen and nineteen and twenty and twenty-three and every age in between because sometimes, he still feels very much like nine)_ "Seriously."

"A friend." At the look on Yuan's face, she added, "Thought you'd like that."

"I do. I like that a lot." Because being Martel's friend was better than being nothing at all.

* * *

 

"So…why didn't you go to Martel for this?" Kratos asked, sitting cross-legged on the bed across from Mithos, gently cleaning the burns on his hands.

"She hasn't been sleeping well," Mithos said. "And she's been pretty stressed with all that's been going on. I didn't wanna bother her."

"You're never a bother. Especially to Martel." Kratos inspected the burn closely. He'd had his own mishaps with burns when he first began learning magic—apparently, he had the opposite of Yuan's issue. Control. He'd burned more than a few empty rooms—as well as his hands—to an even, golden brown before he'd learned to tame the fire. As such, he had gotten rather good at treating burns because, in Yuan's words, if he was going to keep doing it to himself when there was the possibility of no one else being around to help, then he should learn to do it. "And this is pretty bad. What were you doing?"

"Well, Efreet _is_ the Summon Spirit of Fire. Makes sense that his rituals involve fire too."

"This isn't going to be a constant thing, is it? Getting burned?"

Mithos shook his head. "Hopefully not. It's just hard to get control of the mana required."

"…So you are a summoner?"

"Nothing so far's been able to show otherwise. Only way to really tell is to try and make the pact. Anyone can learn the rituals and the technical stuff. The ability to make a pact is what makes a summoner."

"…You like it, don't you? Learning all this."

"Yeah. It's so different, to see it as an actual religion."

Kratos frowned, unscrewing the jar lid for the salve he'd begged off of Rylene and coating a few fingers in it before dabbing it gently on the burns. "I thought elves believed in Summon Spirits."

"They do, but they don't practice it like…like this." Mithos jerked his head in a movement that, to Kratos, meant the whole village. "It's incredible, I guess."

Kratos carefully wound clean bandages around the burnt palms and singed fingertips. "I suppose it is."

"You-you won't tell Martel about this, right?"

Kratos gave him a look. Mithos may have been a teenager now, or close to it, but sometimes, Mithos still acted very much like eight. _(It's Yuan's theory at work again because Mithos is not only twelve, but as well.)_ "You really think you can hide this," Kratos held up Mithos' small, bandaged hands. "From her?"

"I could try."

"And you'd fail just as fast."

"Yeah," Mithos sighed. "If I could just get this spell right, then I don't think I'd have any problems."

"What's the spell?" Kratos asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

"'S supposed to be part of a bigger spell to summon him, but I can't say it."

"Why?"

"I mean literally, I can't say it. The spell's gotta be said really fast and I can barely say it slowly."

Kratos leaned back on his hands, thinking. "Well, I don't know if this would help, but there used to be these like, poems almost, that we would say as kids for fun. We called 'em tongue twisters. They could help you get used to saying hard things quickly."

"What were they like?"

"Um…" Kratos had to think pretty far back. It had been a long time since he'd thought of these. "Okay, I remembered one. She sells seashells by the seashore. The shells she sells are surely seashells. So if she sells shells by the seashore, I'm sure she sells seashore shells."

"She sells sheshel—Dammit!"

Kratos laughed, but still said, "Language. Martel hears you talking like that, she'll whack you upside the head."

"Can you write it down?"

Kratos nodded and looked around for possible paper and ink. He knew he wasn't likely to find any in a half-elven village, so he went to his pack and pulled out a leather-bound journal that Yuan had gotten him for his twenty-second birthday as well as a pencil he used to keep his place. Flipping to a blank page, he wrote out the tongue twister before handing the journal to Mithos.

Mithos read it slowly, word by word, like he was relearning to read. Slowly, he managed to say more of the poem, but the second line continued to give him trouble. Kratos just ruffled his hair and told him that it took practice. "A _lot_ of it," he said ruefully.

* * *

 

"What are they doing?" Martel asked Janine. She'd gone with the seamstress to get a few bolts of cloth from the market; the cloth here was dyed in rich colors like crimson and indigo and some of the colors, Martel had no name for.

Janine followed the half-elf's eyes. A group of women was dancing to the beat of a tambourine and a single drum, their bodies undulating in waves both short and strong as well as longer ones. "Oh, that's a traditional dance. We call it _barqi_. They're practicing for the festival at the full moon this month."

The dancing was graceful and the music intoxicating. Janine watched Martel's face while she watched the dancers with the sagats on their fingers keeping time with the powerful drum and there—Shaadil had joined in with her guitar. "Would you like to learn?" Janine asked her.

Martel looked at her and shook her head. "Oh, no. I'm not much of a dancer. But it is very beautiful though."

"It's a community dance. We all join in. It's simply that, for them, this is their passion. Really, I'm not so great at it either." Janine grinned a little. "Papa says that I've got two left feet and no sense of balance on top of it, but it's fun to be with other people and see them not worrying about the war. This is, I suppose, our escape."

Martel thought about it, then thought about the faces in her dreams and nightmares, the people she couldn't forget even if she wanted to. A way to not worry about them? "…Alright, I'll try it."

* * *

 

Kratos was the first to see her practicing, thankfully. He would tease her the least. He simply leaned his arm on the low wall behind the inn, waiting for her to finish.

When she noticed him, she jumped a little. "Make some noise, would you?"

"Well, I would've if I thought you could hear me over those…things." Kratos tapped his fingertips against his thumb, not sure what the instrument was called.

Martel held out her hand for his inspection—she knew his curiosity so well—and said, "They're called sagats."

"Sagat," Kratos repeated, studying what were essentially cymbals small enough to fit on her thumb and forefinger. "So, why're you learning this?"

Martel's shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug. "I liked the idea of it and Janine offered to help me learn, so, why not? There's a festival in two days. Supposedly, everyone joins in to these kinds of dancing, or it might just be women. I'm not sure. Janine wasn't very clear on that."

"She mentioned the festival this morning."

Martel read the look on his face. "Did she ask you to accompany her?"

"Not that I could tell. She just mentioned something about possibly seeing me there."

"She fancies you, y'know."

Kratos gave her a look. "Somehow, I have trouble believing you."

"I'm not kidding," she said, slipping the sagats off of her fingers and slipping them into the pocket of her dress.

"I didn't say you were. I meant you were probably wrong," he said as they walked back into the cool shade of the inn.

"Really?" Martel said, grabbing a date from a bowl on the counter. She bit into it, letting the sweet juice fill her mouth. Once she'd swallowed, she continued,  
"Because I didn't know you understood the female mind so much better than me."

"Nooo…but I'd have to question the sanity of anyone interested in me," Kratos said, half-laughing as he hoisted himself up to sit on the counter, legs swinging and heels hitting the cabinets gently. "I'm really not all that interesting. Let me have a bite?"

Martel passed the date without a second thought. "I suppose I can't convince you otherwise, then?"

Kratos wiped a bit of sticky juice from his chin. "You can try."

"You're too stubborn for your own good."

"Do you say that to your reflection?"

Martel shoved at him playfully, making Kratos have to catch himself with one hand, laughing.

* * *

 

Sometimes, Kratos thought he knew the young man who appeared in his dreams. His teeth and upper lip were gone, his nose half-burnt away and one eye socket empty, the other eye closed. One of his eyebrows was singed, but still there; the other had been burned away. A day's worth of stubble roughened an undamaged, freckly cheek. Red hair _(Not real red, like cherries and strawberries and fire and heartbreak, but orangey, like carrots)_ was cut regulation style, short enough that it had been recently cut and maintained enough that he hadn't had the cut for long. The haircut only made the smooth curve of round ears more obvious. A dragonfly rested on the remains of his nose _("It's good luck if a dragonfly lands on you," one of the children in the capital says, giggling at the insect on her arm)_. There was a slash between his collarbone and his heart, the white of bone poking out from redred meat and blood. That was what had killed him, not the fire.

He was beneath a tree, half in sunlight, half in shadow. He had the small shoulders of a boy, but the musculature of a man. Thin legs, small waist, powerful, calloused fingers. A uniform on him, creases still visible and the hems of the pants weren't yet worn with marching and trudging through the fields. There was a ring on the third finger of his left hand and a shell hanging around his neck off of a leather cord. _(Is someone missing him? A wife? Kids, perhaps? Or will his children never know their father?)_ His legs were almost completely intact, his boots still with some kind of shine to them. There was a long, deep slice going down one thigh down the opposite knee. _(He hadn't run. Kratos had thought him brave until now. He_ couldn't _have run. Not with that injury)_

He'd been born, perhaps, a few years after Kratos, in a little seaside town whose port was too small to be of much use to the military. His parents had lived there, as well as his grandparents and their grandparents, where, before the war if such a time existed, his great-great-great many times over grandparents had carved out this plot of land from others and had started building it up, catching fish and selling them in nearby towns to make money. They'd struggled for their independence from the human king. He wasn't a bad person, didn't want to invade half-elves. Wasn't a racist. He was a citizen of Sylvarant and a soldier. From his father's knee, he would have heard stories of the great heroes of the war and the great monsters they'd battled and how they'd defeated the king's armies at Seagull's Pass. He'd have been taught to defend the town at all costs, would have been said that that was the highest honor any man could have, was to defend his home. It was never a question.

It had scared him, though. The war. He had lung problems; he'd never been able to swim or run as well as the other kids. He liked sketching, liked to sit on the pier and draw the ships he'd known all his life. He liked to read about faraway places. He wanted to be a painter. Him, a soldier? Like his grandfather, who'd had a scar running down the length of his face and who'd spoken in such powerful, gravelly tones? He couldn't do that. He could be a fisherman, like his father, if it came to that. He hoped that the half-elves would give up already. He hoped the drafts would stop coming. All he could do was hope.

"Kratos?"

Yuan's face was blurry at first, but Kratos recognized his voice before ever opening his eyes. As it was, Kratos sat up on his elbows, wondering why Yuan looked so worried. "What is it?"

"You were talking in your sleep."

"What'd I say?"

"I couldn't make out any wordsm" Yuan said, moving to sit on the bed in the small space between Kratos' thigh and the edge. "It didn't sound good though. You alright?"

His teeth and upper lip were gone, his nose half-burnt away and one eye socket empty, the other eye closed. One of his eyebrows was singed, but still there; the other had been burned away. "Yeah. Just—bad dreams." Kratos read the look on his best friend's face. "It's fine, Yuan. I think I'm gonna go for a walk, clear my head."

"Want company?"

Kratos understood that Yuan wouldn't pry more into it if Kratos didn't want him to, would walk beside him, quiet and understanding and loyal as a shadow, but the more he looked at Yuan, the more his memory merged with the familiar planes of the half-elf's face _(Red hair—not real red—no, blue, like ocean.. Familiar eyes—one burnt away—no, Yuan's fine, he's right in front of him…A slash between his collarbone and heart…)._ "No thanks."

Yuan nodded and ran an unconscious hand through Kratos' unruly hair. "Just remember to get some sleep, alright?"

"Yeah."

* * *

 

"You aren't feeling well."

Kratos knew better than to try to lie to Martel, particularly when it came to his health. "No."

"Anything I can do to help?" That was Martel, always looking for a solution. Just like her brother.

"Can you change the past?"

"Don't be a cynic. It doesn't suit you."

"I was being serious." Kratos paused in his peeling of potatoes. "…Do you see their faces?"

_(One of his eyebrows was singed, but still there; the other had been burned away. A day's worth of stubble roughened an undamaged, freckly cheek. Red hair was cut regulation style, short enough that it had been recently cut and maintained enough that he hadn't had the cut for long.)_

"More than I care to admit. Is that what has you awake at night?"

Kratos winced. "I didn't wake you up too, did I?"

Martel frowned, shaking her head. "No. I'm usually already awake. I can't stop seeing them either."

"…D'you ever feel like you know them? Know everything about them?"

"That part, no." That Kratos did, though, didn't surprise her. Kratos was the storyteller out of all of them and could be surprisingly empathetic. "But sometimes I think I could cry forever because I feel so sad."

"Think they'll ever go away?"

Martel's smile was a bitter upturning of lips. "Is it strange to say that, sometimes, I wish they won't? Or can't? I feel like we're the only ones who'll remember them, even if we didn't know them, and they deserve to be remembered. It's our job as survivors."

Kratos hummed in thought. The young man's face _(The man he killed, the one he took away from the wife, the fiancée, the possible children)_ was fading from his mind the more he spoke about him. _(He can't forget him. Something tells him that he will remember the man he killed all his life)_ But it didn't seem right, for the first time in his life, to mention this to Yuan, who he knew had his own nightmares to contend with. "That sounded almost wise."

Martel's chuckle was a real one, none of her earlier bitterness tainting it. Perhaps this was how to get through this war, Kratos thought. One laugh at a time.

* * *

 

"This is what you wear for the festivals?" Martel said dubiously, twisting in the mirror.

"It is when you're a dancer," Janine replied. "Why, don't you like it?"

"A little…revealing, isn't it?"

The black top was fitted and stopped a few inches below her breasts, which left her midriff exposed. It didn't plunge as much as she'd seen some of the others, for which she was grateful, and it was carefully embroidered with dark blue designs along the bottom hem. Silver bangles were sewn into it, jingling and reflecting the light with Martel's every movement. A wide leather belt, cut into thin strips and then braided with the bangles and colorful beads, was almost too tight against her hips. The skirt was in varying shades of blue and pale purple, the fabric in long strips and created the illusion of a full skirt. Martel had been given a pair of leggings to wear and thin, black cloth had been wrapped around her forearm, tying off at the middle finger and elbow. Her hair was left undone, falling down her back.

"Not terribly." Janine was dressed similarly, but her top dipped a little lower and she was in pale browns and dark wine colors, her bangles bronze and there was subtle paint above her eyes and on her forehead.

Someone poked their head inside and told them that the moon was nearly fully raised and that the dancing had to start soon. Janine smiled and looked at Martel in the mirror. "Ready?"

* * *

 

Mithos ran up to hug her after the dance and she laughed and returned it, ruffling his hair in that way he pretended to hate _("I'm too old for that sort of thing, Martel!")_ Kratos was grinning. "Don't think we didn't see you stumble."

"You'll never let that go, will you?"

"Not a chance," he said easily, embracing her after Mithos had ducked away. "But other than that, you did fine."

Martel hugged him back, knowing that even with his teasing, Kratos meant more than what he said. And she hadn't expected any less of him. When he pulled back because Janine called him and Mithos had finally found the bowls of food, Yuan was staring at her, as he'd been doing since she'd stepped out.

She bristled automatically. She knew she wasn't as slender as the other dances; that she had freckles and she had scars and her skin certainly wasn't smooth. "You keep staring at me. If you think I don't look good, you can just say so."

"Oh, no. You look…beautiful," Yuan told her sincerely. "It's just not…you, y'know?"

Martel hadn't expected that, and felt a flutter of female vanity. It was nice to hear compliments. Still she chuckled slightly, twirling the skirt a little. "Well, it's not like I'll be wearing this sort of thing again. But it was fun."

"I'll bet." At her confused expression, Yuan added, "You were smiling the whole time."

"Maybe you'd like to wear something like this and see if you don't feel a little ridiculous," Martel challenged as she poured herself a mug of the sweet wine they had here.

Yuan waved it away. "Nah. I don't have the legs to pull that off." Martel nearly choked on the sip of wine she'd just taken, laughing. He grinned cheekily at her as she tried to get her breath back. "Tickle in your throat?"

"Oh, hush."

He chuckled, but his eyes were serious. One of his hands came up, almost as though he wasn't thinking about it, to tuck a loose lock of her hair behind a  
triangular ear. "You should wear your hair like this more often. It suits you."

He suddenly seemed too close for some reason. He'd been closer before, Martel knew, sharing blankets and bedrolls and embraces, but he'd never seemed so _close_. She could almost feel the mana running beneath his skin, like electricity. She could see the subtle scar on his cheek, just beneath his eye, where a tree branch had gotten him as a child. There was another scar, a pale imperfection on tanned skin, along his neck and collarbone.

It seemed natural to lean up to brush her lips against his. His lips were slightly chapped and she felt him tense instinctively before he relaxed, kissing her back. _(He tastes of lightning and open skies and summer storms)_. Martel could see the future—misty, meandering and mysterious—and suddenly, that expanse was terrifying and she broke away.

Martel had a moment to see the look on Yuan's face before making herself disappear in the festival's loud colors and bright music.

* * *

 

"Martel?"

The first thing she registered was the concern in Kratos' voice, making her automatically turn towards him.

She smiled a little, though she had to work at it. "Hey. What're you doing here?"

His brow was smooth once again, the worry gone from his face. "Nobody knew where you'd gone. We thought the worst."

"Sorry. I just…needed to get away from everyone."

Kratos hovered just outside of the backyard she'd found herself in. "Do you want me to go?"

She shook her head. Kratos, she thought, would always be someone who didn't count when the urge to be away from people took to her. "Stay…please?"

He sat beside her on the very low wall that was uncomfortable to sit on, but he didn't seem to mind. "…I lied, by the way. About why I'm here."

Martel snorted. "Is that supposed to surprise me?"

"I'm guessing you know why."

"Yeah. I-I panicked."

"Um, before you start, you might wanna know that I don't know the whole story. Yuan just told me you ran off and could I please help him look for you."

Most people would have needed more information than that. It didn't surprise Martel in the least that Kratos didn't. Not when it came to Yuan. "…I kissed him." Kratos tilted his head, a spark of curiosity in his eyes, but he didn't say anything, which she was grateful for. "I-I don't know what happened really. I mean, I liked kissing him and I wanted to, I guess, but for some reason, it scared me. So I had to get out of there."

Kratos just looked at her for a few minutes before saying, "I hope you don't expect me to have some kind of mystical wisdom on this."

Martel laughed suddenly, unable to help it. "No, I suppose not. Any advice then, if you don't have mystical wisdom?"

He shrugged. "Tell him everything you just told me? I think he'd like to hear all that."

"You don't think he'll push me away for it? For being scared?"

He gave her a look that suggested she was being an idiot. Usually, that look was reserved for when Yuan and Mithos were plotting a prank, or it was her giving him the look, but apparently, this time it was warranted. "I honestly don't think that there's anything in the world that you could do that would get him to do that."

Immediately, Martel thought of something, but that involved murdering Kratos and that certainly wasn't going to happen. _(She's not sure just how much Yuan loves Kratos—for it is love, in a very different, yet very real sense of the word—but she is sure that they're Yuan-and-Kratos and she couldn't ever break them apart)_

"So, you're telling me to go talk to him?"

"If you still feel like hiding, I can pretend to look for you a bit more."

Martel brushed her bangs out of her face. "You'd do that for me?"

"Of course I would." Kratos sounded like he was confused.

"Heh, never mind." Martel felt flattered that Kratos would do something like that for her when he'd come looking for her because Yuan had asked him to.

"How much have you had to drink tonight?"

"Not enough, I promise you," Martel said, pushing herself to stand up and kissing Kratos' cheek. "Thanks, by the way. For listening."

Kratos pinked, but she pretended not to notice. "You going to go talk to him?"

"Mmhm. I don't know how it's going to go, but it can't hurt, right?"

"You keep up that optimism."

"I don't need your sass."

Kratos just gave her a small push. "Stop stalling."

"Yessir."

* * *

 

"So…how'd it go?"

Yuan didn't jump. He never jumped at Kratos' voice, even if it was in the middle of the night. "Thought you'd be asleep by now."

Kratos sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. "Well, with today's excitement, I just couldn't."

Yuan sat against the footboard of Kratos' bed, one leg dangling off the side of the bed. "…It went well." Yuan looked up at Kratos through his bangs, grinning a little. "I _told_ you I'd marry her one day."

Kratos chuckled. "You aren't married yet."

Yuan kicked Kratos playfully. "Stop trying to kill my buzz."

"I think that's from the wine."

"Oh, shut up." But Yuan couldn't stop smiling.

* * *

  
 _  
"I love you as you are, but do not tell me how that is."_  
 _~Antonio Porchia,_ **Voces** , 1943, translated from Spanish by W.S. Merwin


	56. Concerning War and Love: Part 2

* * *

 

_"Promise me you'll remember: you're braver than you believe, and stronger than you've seen, and smarter than you think."  
-Christopher Robin's Thotful Spot_

* * *

 

She'd gotten used to seeing him around. He was the only other human she'd ever spent time around, had even seen, really. And he wasn't what she'd heard some half-elves say; he wasn't cruel, wasn't vicious, wasn't even very threatening. Not at first or even second glance, anyway.

Kratos was quiet and polite, with a strange sense of humor. He had a nice smile, Janine thought. A little shy and endearingly crooked. Something about him was boyish, despite him obviously being a man. Perhaps it was the way he interacted with Yuan, like two adolescent brothers who liked to yank on each other's chains. Or perhaps it was how very…contained…he became around women. Not just the dancers, because Janine could understand that—most women never showed that much skin—but around all women. Except Martel. Martel was an exception to a lot of rules.

Janine felt vaguely jealous of Martel sometimes. Janine knew she was no great beauty. She'd accepted that long ago. But when she looked at Martel, who always had dirt beneath her fingernails and her hair—and Janine thought that Martel had lovely hair. Such an…alive…color out here was a reprieve from golds and reds—never stayed neat, and yet, when she smiled, people reacted. When she spoke, people listened. Kratos laughed openly with her and Mithos shone and Yuan was obviously in love with her.

But whenever she got those feelings, Janine felt rather silly. After all, Martel was kind to her—to everyone really—and she was so uncomfortable in anything more revealing than breeches and a shirt or a long cotton dress that Janine couldn't even blame her for anything.

"Are-are you busy?"

Janine looked up from the shirt she was mending. Kratos was in the doorway waiting. That was something else he did—he never came too close to anyone without their permission first. "Not really. Why?"

"I was, uh, wondering if you could teach me to sew."

Janine blinked at him. "Sew?"

"Yes. It's a pretty useful thing to learn, I guess and…" He trailed off.

"But sewin' is women's work."

The instant she said it, she knew it was the wrong thing. Nothing physical happened beyond a vague stiffening of Kratos' shoulders, but she could still see him shrink, saw walls go up.

Kratos didn't think he could ever forget his father's voice, no matter how much he might want to. _(…He's missing something…under people's boots…never able to stand up for anything…)_ He couldn't forget Agenor, making excuses, though Kratos hadn't known it for what it was then. And the few things he knew of his mother, Agenor had told him about it. His father had never spoken of her. _(…Seeing all these books, you remind me of your mother. She liked to read too…)_

He didn't know why he was remembering this now. Perhaps it was because he had too much time on his hands in this town, too much time to think.

"Maybe it is, but we're out in the field enough that I should probably learn to do it myself."

Janine nodded. "If you say so. I'll start you off easy." She handed him one of the many things that were given to her; apparently, more things became ripped or torn during festival days.

Janine was a patient teacher, and Kratos was a little clumsy with the needle. By the end of the hour, his stitches may not have been the tight, neat ones that Janine made, but they were serviceable.

"What's on your hand?" she asked when they took a break for some lunch of spicy lentils and bread.

Kratos looked down at the orb. It was pale blue, set in bronze and his hand still ached a little whenever he moved it. "Your father said it's called an Exsphere. That he got it from trading with the dwarves. It's supposed to make people come to their full potential."

"I've never seen such a thing."

"I don't think he'd want it for his daughter. The only reason he gave it to us was because it seems like Mithos is nearly done with his training and we're going to have to fight Efreet."

"Does it hurt?" Janine asked, noticing that the area around it was reddened.

"A little. It's actually in my skin, apparently. It's supposed to be the only way for it take effect."

"Does it work?"

"Dunno. I haven't tried it out yet. Yuan's been with Martel since this morning, so I can't spar with him, and Mithos was gone before I even woke up this morning."

"What will you guys do once you go after Efreet?"

Kratos shrugged. "Head back to the capital most likely. There're people there who'd want to know if it was possible for Mithos to summon Efreet. And Martel doesn't like to leave her patients very much."

"I can imagine…What's the capitol like?"

"It's…" Kratos struggled to find the words. He could see it all laid out in his mind; the streets with their network of alleyways. The flat-topped roofs that would have planks running across them that the kids would play on. If the windows had ever had glass, the glass had long ago been blown out of the frame in the bombings. The entire city was a lovely lady made dusty and dull by war. "I think it was a beautiful place once."

"…Are you going to be happy to leave? I know that not everyone likes the desert."

"...This place is very different from where I grew up. We didn't have sand there and it rained a lot in autumn and snowed enough that it got to your knees in winter. And it was never hot like this—well, it was hot, but it was so wet that it was humid too, so it seemed worse."

"That don't answer my question."

"Doesn't," Kratos corrected automatically. "And…I don't think so. I like travelling, seeing new places." He smiled a little. "It's what we dreamed of, Yuan and I, back when we were kids."

"You two been friends a long time, ain't you? Anyone can see that."

"Since we were…almost ten." Kratos found himself feeling suddenly, inexplicably, old. Twenty-three—well, nearly twenty-four—wasn't an old age at all, but he could suddenly almost see all his ages—one, two, three, all the way through Yuan's Years of ten-eleven-twelve-and-on to the present—and they seemed so very many.

"Wow. I ain't known anyone that long. Well, no one like a best friend. I've known the people in this village near all my life."

"I…can't really remember the people that were in my town." And it was strange. For so long, they had been his world. Those classmates in that schoolhouse, the old woman that ran the bakery, the kids that bullied him, his father, those slaves…now, with so much more to give things scope, those things seemed very small. "We've been on the road so long, I've forgotten."

"Do you gotta travel? You could stay somewhere, put down roots."

Kratos felt the uncomfortable prickles of sudden, unfamiliar territory dance up his spine. "We're trying to find a way to stop the war. Mithos has this…crazy plan and I won't abandon him."

"Can't be that crazy if you're going along with it."

"No…it's still pretty crazy. But I think he can do it."

"You guys are better dreamers than I am," she said, leaning back on her arms. "I can't imagine a world without this war."

"That's part of our point though. No one even remembers what started this war, not even the elves. The only reason we're fighting now is because we don't know how to do anything else. That has to change—why're you smiling?" Kratos felt his thoughts brake to a sudden stop at her expression.

"Because of you," Janine said honestly. He hadn't been shy at that moment, hadn't been embarrassed or concerned about being polite. He'd been passionate in his thoughts, something she hadn't seen in him before. It suited him.

He stared at her, perplexed and she couldn't help but laugh, even as she pushed herself to stand, taking her basket of mended clothes and perching it on one hip. Still smiling, she told him, "It's hard to explain."

* * *

 

"Are you afraid?" Yuan asked quietly, sitting on the roof as had become their tradition. "Of tomorrow."

Mithos had come to them that evening, his face streaked with soot and ash, but triumphant. "Arin says I should try to make a pact with Efreet tomorrow. He says I'm ready."

Supper had been a quiet affair, no one sure what to say. The threat of tomorrow hung over their heads, heavy with the weight of the future.

Martel looked at him, her hazel eyes seeming suddenly too old for her face. "I think I should be."

"But you're not?"

"It feels like…that it's not real, y'know? I feel like tomorrow will be the same as all these months before us."

Yuan reached down to entwine his fingers with hers as though trying to borrow some of her strength. It had been nearly a month since the festival and its subsequent events and three weeks since Arin gave them the Exspheres that he still wasn't accustomed to. "With any luck, we'll come back here tomorrow, safe and sound."

She kissed the back of the hand that held hers. "With luck."

* * *

 

"What if I can't do it?" Mithos asked in the darkness. Kratos wasn't surprised to see him out here, sitting on the front steps of the inn. He doubted anyone would be getting sleep tonight.

"Then at least we tried. It's more than most people can say." Kratos wasn't sure when that small ball of anger had appeared in his gut. Anger at the people that stood by, at the people who refused to see what was so plain in front of them, at the ones who were so willingly blinded by the need of someone to blame. The anger was always there now, sometimes simmering, low and forgotten, but other times, it flared to life with a terrible strength.

"We?" Mithos repeated, watching his friend and teacher manipulate the orb of water in his hand. It was something that Alstan insisted was good for control. He also said it was absolutely necessary that Kratos constantly practice as his body couldn't contain magic like people with more elven blood could and really, water was the safest one to use. Even wind magic had gotten Kratos' hands sliced up more than once.

"Yeah. You didn't think we were going to let you do it alone, did you?"

"Arin always talks about it like I am."

Kratos smiled at him. "Well, I don't think that most summoners get a whole lot of people to volunteer to go up against a Summon Spirit."

Mithos laughed, sounding a little bleak. "Yeah, I guess not." He paused, uncertain. "Are you sure you want to come? I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to."

"I want to," Kratos assured him.

Mithos wrapped his arms around his knees. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why have you even stuck with me and Martel so long?"

"Martel and I."

Mithos rolled his eyes, but repeated it anyway. "Why? And don't say it's just because of Yuan."

"You don't think I would've stayed for Yuan?"

"Of course you would. But that can't be why?"

Kratos let the magic dissipate, which left his hands feeling moist. "Why not?"

"Because you wouldn't be going this far just for that."

"Heh." Kratos disagreed strongly with that, but this wasn't the time for that. "I'm here because I think that…you're right. That there is a way to end this war peacefully and we just need to find it."

Mithos tilted his head curiously. "Y'know, sometimes, I think you can be a little naïve."

"What? Why?"

"You just seem too trusting sometimes."

Kratos chuckled and ruffled Mithos' hair. "You ever think you're too cynical?"

Mithos squirmed away—he'd gotten to that age where he insisted that he was too old for that sort of thing—and said, "Well, I can't help that, can I? Will you practice water magic with me?"

Mithos didn't mention how he needed the easy motions of magic to keep him awake because he knew that if he slept, he would dream of flames licking at his feet, his calves, of hellhounds with rust-red fur with black smoke-mist at their heels and darkbright red eyes _(Red like blood and hatred and lives taken)_ that pad closer with the quiet, languid deadliness.

"Sure."

* * *

 

Yuan pushed a mug of coffee into Kratos' hand. "You sleep?" Kratos shook his head. "Nightmares?"

"No. Mithos looked almost…afraid to sleep last night, so I stayed up with him to practice magic."

"And you're not tired?" Using magic tended to always draw some energy away from the user to direct the spell in the way they wanted it to go, even if they took the actual mana used to fuel the spell from the environment around them. For Kratos, he got tired much quicker, as his body wasn't built to accommodate for that extra non-physical strain.

"Not any more than I should be since I didn't sleep."

Yuan studied him carefully, observing the look in his friend's eyes and the way he stood. Yuan couldn't see mana the way Mithos could, but he could sense it—part of the time, and always with Kratos—and Kratos was already regenerating the mana used up during the night, something that used to take much longer. Yuan's eyes flicked to the Exsphere on Kratos' left hand and back up to his face before he noticed something.

"You're taller."

Kratos blinked at him. "What?" Kratos took a step towards Yuan so that they were side by side and measured with his free hand. Where, a few weeks ago, he'd been several inches shorter, now they were the same height. "I _am_ taller. That explains why my shirts don't fit right."

Yuan burst out laughing. "Well, what did you think was happening?"

Kratos shrugged. "No idea. The thought of me getting taller didn't occur to me."

"What did Arin say about the Exspheres? That it brings you to the maximum physical potential?" Yuan wondered if not having enough to eat could affect height because back when it had just been Kratos-and-Yuan, they hadn't had much and while Yuan took longer to grow, took longer to develop, those years had been, or were supposed to be, Kratos' growing years. "Maybe this is the height you were supposed to be."

Kratos ran a hand through his hair and grinned. "No complaints about that."

Yuan slung an arm around Kratos' shoulder. "Maybe you should ask Janine to make you some new clothes, since those're too small now." Kratos elbowed him, making him laugh. "Borrow some of my clothes then."

"Do you have any that're clean?"

"Why do you ask like you don't expect me to? Of course I do. You, however," Yuan made a show of sniffing Kratos. "Are in need of a bath." He gave him a light shove between the shoulder blades. "Get going, I'll get the clothes."

"Yes, mother," Kratos muttered, but Yuan still caught the words and barked out a laugh.

* * *

 

"The Temple is that way?"

"Mm." Mithos seemed almost frozen to the spot.

Martel wrapped an arm around him. "What is it?"

"You'll all get hurt. I can feel it. Efreet…he's dangerous. What if I can't do it and you get hurt for nothing?"

"Then we tried."

Mithos shot her a look. "You've been spending a lot of time with Kratos."

She chuckled. "That I have. But he's not wrong. And wounds heal. If this doesn't work, we'll recover and try and find a different way."

"You _are_ stubborn."

"Well, where did you think you learned it from?"

* * *

 

Arin stood by the village gates, the bone beads in his dark hair clacking with the wind. Janine looked small standing beside his muscular frame. She didn't seem to belong in this environment, like a cuckoo bird.

"I've broken my pact with Efreet," Arin told them. _(He tries not to think about the hollow in his chest where, until midnight last night, a fire had warmed him from the inside out. Now, he feels cold and empty, but he hopes that it's worth it, that these young people can fulfill their dreams of peace)_ "Should you defeat him, he'll be free of me to make the pact."

It made no sense to Kratos, none at all, but it must have made some to Mithos because he nodded. "Alright."

They turned and started heading out past the dunes to the temple. Arin had told Mithos that every summer solstice, the entire village would make their way out to the temple and spend the day there to thank Efreet for protecting them.

"Wait!"

The four of them turned back to see Janine sprinting up to them, not once slipping or sliding on the sand beneath her feet, her dark curls bouncing as she ran. She skidded to a stop in front of Kratos before going on her toes to kiss him lightly. "For luck," she said, her cheeks pinking before she started running back to her adopted father.

Yuan grinned, hooking an arm around Kratos' neck to tug him forward and make him walk. "We hate to say this, Kratos, _but_ …"

Martel matched his grin. "We told you so."

Yuan let go of Kratos now that he was walking, sensing that, at the moment, Kratos needed to have a small panic attack and Martel was better at dealing with those than he was _(Or rather, he's better at dealing with the problems of the past. Martel is the guardian of the future)_.

"Breathe," Martel advised once Mithos and Yuan had gone a little farther ahead.

"I-I don't know what to do," he said, running a hand through his hair. _(Martel has seen Yuan do the very same movement and she wonders if Kratos got it from Yuan or vice versa)_

He seemed young then, to Martel. Younger than she'd ever known him. Thirteen, or fourteen, perhaps. Not the twenty-three she knew he was. But, it seemed, Yuan's theory of ages was good at proving itself. "Hey, she's not asking to marry you."

"Thank heavens for that," Kratos muttered before glancing up at her. He'd calmed a little, but not all the way. "But I think she wants me to stay in this village. She mentioned something about that the other day."

"Do you wanna stay?" Martel asked.

"Of course not," he said immediately.

"Then don't," she said simply. "But, you do know that if you wanted to stay, none of us would blame you. This life on the road thing…maybe you need a life that's lived in one place."

Kratos shook his head. "Not a chance. I…like travelling. Actually, staying in only one place seems…it seems a little boring. I can't picture doing that. Not after all this."

Martel smiled. "That's good to hear."

"I thought you wouldn't blame me."

"I wouldn't. But I would miss you." She kissed his cheek. "Now come on, before those two leave us behind."

* * *

 

He remembered the fight in snatches. Jumping aside to avoid a wall of flames, lightning crashing around him, but never once did he feel threatened. Small tides of water summoned from both his and Mithos' hands, Martel's barriers making sweet, high music when the fire hit them.

It was over now, but they're not without injuries. Efreet had gone for him, as any smart enemy would. Kratos knew he was the weak link in them, a little slower, a little less able in magic. He smelled of char and his right arm was garishly red _(Like cherries and strawberries and fire and heartbreak)_ , the skin having been seared away. One of Yuan's legs was badly burnt and he was currently leaning on Kratos' good arm to keep the weight off it, and there were several slices across his chest. His neck, where Efreet had grabbed him, was bruised and burned, which made for a horrible cacophony of colors. Yuan was the most reckless of all of them and was the worst off. Mithos, at least, seemed to have had the good sense to stay back…sort of. There was a slice across his face, going from his temple to the corner of his mouth—Efreet was relentless and ruthless, his hands constantly changing shape from hellhound's claw to powerful fingers—and one of Martel's ankles was black and burnt.

Efreet's physical body—or the one he chose, according to Mithos, as Summon Spirits apparently didn't have corporeal bodies of their own except when they chose to—was mostly the torso of a man, his skin the red of hellfire, darkening in places to be the dark crimson that made Kratos' stomach churn with memories _(The man he killed bled that color, his nose half-burnt away and one eye was missing…)_. The red lightened at the collarbone up over Efreet's horned head to flicker in yellows and oranges, like a candle. He was cloaked in dark violet flames that licked up his shoulders to white—the hottest of fires—and behind the horns on his head flared burning wings that made Kratos think of that story of the boy who wanted to fly higher than the sun, but he flew too close and his wings caught fire and brought him crashing down.

"Well done. When Arin told me of you, I did not think you would be able to succeed." Efreet's voice was deep and hoarse, like someone who'd breathed in too much smoke. "Tell me your vow. Why do you want my power?"

Mithos stepped up, soot in his hair and one hand shaking from exhaustion—his mana had taken a beating and now that Kratos saw him from the back, he saw that the back of his shirt was oozing…something—and yet, still with shoulders squared and chin raised. "This war's gone on too long. With enough power, we could end it. With enough power to make ourselves heard, we could make them stop fighting, make them see that there _is_ a middle ground."

Efreet's eyes glanced at the rest of them. "Yes, I can see that you believe in that. Not many half-elves would travel with a human in these times."

"So you're willing to help?" Mithos pressed.

"I hope you're right, and that they will stop. This war has taken a toll on all creatures, Summon Spirits included. So yes, you may use my power."

They watched in awe as Efreet flames dissipated into small, dazzling pieces, slowly working their way up his body until there was nothing left. The pieces solidified together, as if brought together by a magnet, and dropped to the ground at Mithos' as a red stone.

Mithos bent to pick it up, grimacing as he did at the pain in his back. He rolled it in his hands. "A ruby…I think. I've never seen one. But the mages back in the capitol always say that gemstones hold magic better because of the purity of their minerals...or something."

Yuan was tapping at Kratos' shoulder, a sign, and Kratos lowered the both of them to the floor accordingly. His own legs weren't feeling too great about then either. Martel half hopped to them, the sight of which automatically made Yuan start to get up, but Kratos grabbed the back of his friend's shirt to jerk him back down before his leg gave out on him.

"You're worse off than she is. Let her fuss."

"She shouldn't _be_ fussing over us if she hasn't healed herself."

Martel glared at Yuan. "Who's the Healer here, me or you? Since, last I checked, you hadn't learned any healing arts, now's the time where you're going to have to swallow your pride and trust that I know what I'm doing."

Her magic healed the worst of their injuries and, more than once, Kratos saw Yuan about to tell her that she should rest, but thought better of it and kept quiet. Mithos wasn't quite so smart and got a dark look. Martel had a fairly easy temper most of the time, but when she was a Healer, she wanted only to get the job done.

Yuan winced at the sight of Martel peeling the shirt from Mithos' back, burnt skin still sticking to the fabric. Mithos tried to be strong about it, tried to not let out a sound, but Kratos, seeing how close he was to bursting, offered a hand to hold. Mithos clutched at the hand as Martel ran a cloth damp from her canteen gingerly across the blistered and burned skin.

"Yuan, can you get the burn salve from my bag?" she asked quietly. He quickly fished for it and handed it to her. Dipping her fingers in the salve, Martel said, "Mithos, this-this is going to hurt, alright?"

Mithos' hand clenched tight around Kratos'. Martel tried to put as little pressure on her younger brother's back as possible. It had been her fault; she hadn't been fast enough with the barrier magic, hadn't gotten to him in time. Mithos squirmed and shifted under her touch, trying not to move too much, hissing between his teeth. _(He's strong, her brother. Stronger than he should be. At times like these, Martel curses and rages mentally at the world for its utter blindness. Couldn't they see what the war was_ doing _to their children?)_

She wrapped gauze loosely around him. If she had more mana at her disposal, she could have healed all of them so that the burns would be red, angry skin and the cuts little more than cat scratches, but today, she was so tired…

They didn't need to start a fire, it was so warm in the temple. Mithos was still holding onto Kratos like he would never let go, and Kratos had shifted closer so that they would both be more comfortable. Mithos, finally, fell into a fitful sleep with his head on Kratos' thigh and Kratos wasn't far behind, leaning his head back on Efreet's altar.

Yuan sat by Martel. She hadn't healed herself yet—people weren't wrong when they said that Healers made for the worst patients—and he took her ankle into his lap and began to gently dab it on. The ankle was swollen and bruised, but at least it wasn't broken. "I don't think we'll be attacked tonight—not in here—so you should get some sleep. You won't be able to help anyone if you're too tired to even walk."

Martel nodded, leaning back on her arms. Her entire body was sore and she wanted nothing more than to curl into her bedroll and sleep. "…I'm sorry. For snapping at you earlier."

Yuan smiled wearily at her. "It's alright. We're all a little cranky and…I-I shouldn't interfere with your work. You were right; in the Healing department, you're the one who knows what you're doing."

"Well, I've been told that I can get pretty stubborn—"

"An understatement," Yuan murmured, grinning a little when she gave him a look.

"And, the way I figure it, you're good at callin' me on when I'm being too stubborn."

"At your service, Lady."

"Are you calling me that too now?"

Yuan didn't say anything, just smiled and wrapped her ankle with leftover gauze. It struck him that he shouldn't be so good at wrapping bandages _(But this is a war and you learn things quick in a war or you die)_.

The people in the capital—the ones she's treated, the ones she's laughed and eaten with, the ones she's fought with—they've begun to call her their Lady. The first time she'd heard, Martel had shaken her head, laughing a little. _"Me? Lady? Not a chance!"_

Whatever her protestations, everyone kept calling her that. At first, it was mostly only the men that used the title, but it begun to catch on until the children would tug at her skirts and laugh, calling her Lady Martel and soon everyone was saying it. Because she was theirs, they'd protect her with all they had. Their Lady. She'd protected and fought for them more than most women—or even men—would have. She'd healed them, freed them, given them strength when they thought they had none.

Yuan had smiled to himself when he'd first been told of the reasoning behind the title. Despite all that she'd done, he suspected that Martel was still largely ignorant of all the good she'd done. It was endearing.

Martel shifted her foot out of his lap so that she could sit closer to him, resting her head against his shoulder. She thought about saying something, but decided against it. It was nice to have this kind of silence, warm and soft like a favorite blanket. Apparently, Yuan thought so too because he wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head, scooting the both of them back until they hit a wall and shifted until they were both comfortable.

Perhaps this was what peace was. Or at least, a small measure of it. It'd be nice to see this kind of atmosphere spread out everywhere.

* * *

 

The first thing they saw on their return to the village was a scramble of silver and green feathers heading right for them.

Kratos laughed and hugged Noishe's neck when the protozoan neared them. Viren had convinced them to leave Noishe behind so that there was some line of contact between the capital and them. "We get it—you missed us."

Yuan ran his hand along the familiar feathers on the underside of Noishe's neck, where they were soft and downy. "Just a little."

Martel kissed Noishe's head. "Nice to see you too."

Mithos patted Noishe's wing. "Well—it _has_ been a while. We didn't know it would take so long."

"You know this bird?" Arin asked. He had a spear in his hand and he looked vaguely tense.

"Yes, he's ours," Kratos said. "His name's Noishe." The bird tapped Kratos' cheek with his beak and bobbed his head downwards. "Oh, well, that explains why you're here."

He bent down to retrieve the message tied to Noishe's leg. "Let's read this inside. It's hot."

Janine wasn't in the inn when they entered, something that Kratos was grateful for. He wasn't sure how to act around her now and, with a message from the capital, he was sure that any possibility in him staying was utterly shot. They took their seats on the ground, cushions and pillows, always warm, felt warmer from the morning in the sun.

"It's from Viren," Kratos said, unrolling the message. Noishe settled himself behind him.

Yuan leaned to peer over Kratos' shoulder. "What's he say?"

"The humans are sending a lot of forces out here, towards the west." Kratos frowned and looked up at Arin. "What would they want out here?"

"We do much trade and beyond the desert are our richest ports. They're not much either way, but they're a major piece in getting goods all over half-elven country."

"That must be what they're after."

"And if they destroy another Summon Spirit's temple, they'll be that much better off," Mithos murmured.

"They don't think of it that way," Yuan said absently. "They don't think of the Summon Spirits as corporeal. To them, they're just old gods that we're clinging to because we don't have a prayer. They might destroy them just for the sake of destruction, not because they think that they hold any power."

"Viren's asking us to meet the fleet in…what's that say?" Kratos squinted at the letter. Viren hadn't known how to write beyond his tribe's picture-words, but Kratos and Yuan had both sat him down and taught him as well as Zaren. Viren's letters were, for the most part, legible except for when he felt rushed and then his words tended to blur together or he would forget letters.

"Izlion," Yuan supplied, peeking at the message. "The great ocean city."

"You've heard of it?"

"Of course. They say that it sprawls on the coastline like a large cat and that Undine watches over the city so that they aren't flooded."

"That's what they told us in Heimdall," Martel said. "That the reason our swamps and lakes never flooded our homes was because we had Undine's blessing."

"Well, I'm pretty sure that Undine can bless more than one place," Kratos said reasonably. "And I didn't know that we had a fleet on our side."

"He's calling it a fleet, but it's really just a bunch of traders and fishermen that're part of the militia," Mithos said.

"Do they have any magic-users over there?" Kratos directed the question to Arin, who had more knowledge of the people there.

"Yes, but not in the way that you're thinking. Their magic is to navigate the ocean and to make the winds more favorable," Arin replied. "I doubt that any of them could turn that into something offensive."

Arin was surprised, to tell the truth. While he knew that these four were part of the military and he knew that Kratos was on the side of the half-elves, he hadn't really understood what that meant. It was strange to hear Kratos speaking so easily about things that humans weren't supposed to care about, about things that were so close to half-elven culture that most outsiders hardly took the time to learn them.

"If we get there soon enough…" Kratos began.

"We can help change that," Yuan finished. "Air and water magic is powerful in its own right. On their land, where they know the streets and the terrain? It'll be an enormous advantage."

"How far is Izlion from here?" Mithos asked.

Arin thought about it."A good two days' travel. Longer, depending on the desert."

Mithos rubbed at the ruby from Efreet in his pocket. Efreet was said to control the desert, that his rages had brought down fiery tornados and sandstorms. "I think we can make good time. It'll take a while for the humans to get through the desert."

"Hang on," Martel interrupted. "Izlion is beyond this village. If we leave and the humans march through the desert, what happens to you?"

"We can defend ourselves," Arin said. _(They never had to before and the hollow in Arin's chest twists sharply at the reminder. Efreet isn't there to protect them anymore)_ "And our village is difficult to find. If we're careful, we can make it seem like no one has lived here for a very long time. The humans will pass right by us."

"And if they decide that it would be a good idea to take shelter here? This village isn't big enough to hide all of you for very long."

"We wouldn't be in the village limits. We'd hide in Efreet's temple."

"That place is like a maze," Mithos said, frowning. "The humans'll get lost in there, definitely, but so might your own people."

"We'll stay towards the front and fight from there."

"With what people?" Martel demanded. "Your men are gone to fight in the war, as they have everywhere else."

Arin's eyes hardened. "I had not expected you, of all people, to underestimate the strength of those left behind, Martel."

The women, the children. Martel felt a flush of shame creep up her neck _(But she hadn't allowed herself to be left behind. She had to be stronger for Mithos, had to find courage where there had been none so that they could move onwards)_. "They shouldn't have to take on an army by themselves."

"You're not wrong, but this world isn't so nice." Arin took a deep breath and began walking to the door. "I must go tell everyone that we leave the day after tomorrow."

* * *

 

"I won't be able to stop it from scarring a little," Martel said, her warm mana hovering over Kratos' arm. "Some of those burns went to the bone."

"It's fine," Kratos assured her. "At least I can still use my arm." He glanced down at her ankle, still wrapped in several layers of gauze. "How's your leg?"

"At least you're asking and not assuming."

Kratos smiled. "Mithos?"

"Naturally."

"How'd you manage to get any time for yourself today?"

"Yuan's helping the villagers get supplies to the temple and I told Mithos that he needs a lot of rest for his back to heal."

Kratos lowered his eyes. "I don't like leaving these people to fend for themselves."

"Neither do I," Martel confessed. "But…I was talking to Arin this morning over breakfast—"

"Couldn't sleep again?"

"No." She couldn't stop seeing faces, so many faces; people she knew, people she didn't. People that she loved, lying dead at her feet.

Kratos thought about trying to get her to sleep now, before they got on the road again, but he quickly dismissed the idea. He trusted Martel to know how far she could push herself, trusted that she would give her body rest when she had sufficiently exhausted herself to keep the nightmares at bay.

"What did Arin say?" He asked instead.

"He told me that I should stop worrying, that we should hurry up and get to Izlion. He said that the sooner we put a stop to this war, the better off they'll be."

Kratos huffed out a breath. "Is it bad that he makes a lot of sense?"

She smiled. "I think he was trying to. He knows you pretty well by now, Kratos. We've lived here for almost two months and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that you're not very good at following orders. He knew that you'd be stubborn enough to stay and help them fight off the humans unless he gave you a logical reason to go. It's the way you work. "

"There's a logical reason to stay too," he pointed out.

Martel just patted his arm before standing up. "You keep telling yourself that. And make sure not to overwork that arm. The surface is completely healed, but it'll be another week or so until it's up to full functionality."

"Yes, ma'am." He followed her lead, getting to his feet a little more slowly because he'd been sitting for so long. He wasn't sure how Martel could bear to kneel like she did for hours and never feel any kind of strain.

"You're about to go out and do the exact opposite of what I just said, aren't you?"

"No…I'm just going to help the villagers pack the necessities." He caught her look and smiled reassuringly. "I won't overdo it, I promise."

"Uh-huh."

"Where's the trust?"

"Out for a lunch break."

Kratos chuckled as he stepped out, blinking in the hopes that it would help his eyes adjust faster to the bright sun. The entire village was electric with activity, everyone going this way and that, but most of them were putting their things on the pony carts, like a well-oiled machine. _(Kratos says that once to Martel, the thing about machines, and she looks at him strangely. Then she makes a sound of understanding and says, "I guess some things never go away." It takes Kratos longer to realize that the elves don't use machines and half-elves can't afford them. Machines are entirely a human creation)_

"Fior," Kratos called to the blacksmith's apprentice. The kid _(Kid? There is a scant three years difference in their ages)_ came around the inn often, looking for Janine.

Fior turned automatically at the call of his name. "Kratos. Did Lady Martel finally let you out?"

"In a way. Does anyone else need help packing?"

"Um, last I checked, Mariel needed the help. She's been watchin' the kids, so she ain't had to time to do much."

"Thanks. I'd help with the moving, only Martel said I shouldn't."

"What the Lady says, goes. 'M a little surprised to hear that she let Yuan out there." He hadn't been in the best of shapes either, still recovering from his own wounds and walking with a slight limp, but he'd assured Martel that he was only going as back-up in case of monsters and that of course Noishe was going with him.

"Noishe is with him. He won't let anything happen to him."

If Fior thought that the trust Kratos put in an overlarge bird was strange, he didn't mention it. "I'm sure he won't."

* * *

 

Mariel was a small woman, but a tough one. Her skin was rough and brown from a lifetime in the desert's harsh sun, her hands strong. And yet, she was still had a sweetness to her; one that didn't often show up when Kratos was nearby. Old prejudices were hard to let go of.

The children, on the other hand, were far more accustomed to Kratos and actually volunteered to help him pack the things that Mariel needed. It got to the point where Kratos wasn't particularly needed for the process at all. He was sitting back, watching them, when he felt Mariel's eyes on him.

"You are good with children," she said.

Kratos looked back at her. "Is that a compliment or just an observation?"

"An observation. Did you have brothers or sisters, back in your land?"

Kratos shook his head. "The only brother I've ever had is Yuan."

Mariel's eyes narrowed at him, studying. "I knew Yuan's brother while he was here. Zaren."

"I know him too. He's a good man."

"He is a good man," Mariel agreed. "But he and Yuan ain't very much alike."

"You think so?" Kratos murmured. "Because they seem very alike to me."

"How so?"

"The look on their faces sometimes, and they're restless. Always tapping their foot or pacing."

"Family tends to be that way."

Kratos wrapped his arms around his knees, wincing as the skin on his newly healed burns stretched at the new angle. "Did you have siblings?"

"Oh yes. Two sisters." Mariel lowered her eyes. "The humans took them."

Mariel was surprised to see Kratos' hand clench in a sudden anger, at the flash of ferocity on his face before it morphed into sadness. It wasn't something that should have been on a face so young. "…Can you tell me their names? If-if we find them, when we're…out there, I want to be able to tell them about you."

The boyman—despite being human, despite having been raised against her people—was so sympathetic. It was a strange thing to hear something like that from his mouth. "Feryin and Suriana."

"Do you remember them?"

"My sisters?"

"Mm."

"Most of the time. I'm the youngest, so I have fewer memories." Mariel paused. "Do you ever hate your people, Kratos?"

"Humans, you mean." Kratos hardly thought of himself as human much of the time these days.

"Of course."

"…Sometimes. I don't want to, but…after seeing and hearing about the things they've done—Hellsfire, _experiencing_ some of them—I can't help it. But, at the same time, I remember what I was always told growing up. About the things the half-elves have done to us—them. And I don't know if you—we—are guilty of all the things they say we are, but I know that we're definitely guilty of more than a few."

"Do you ever hate half-elves?"

"…Sometimes. But I think that's because I get frustrated at how damn stubborn they can be." Kratos twisted a smile at her and it made Mariel chuckle. The boyman had a brutal honesty about him that she appreciated.

"You musta picked up a few lessons then, boy."

A knock came at the door before a head poked around it. "Mariel, came to get your things in the pony cart. Everyone's things are just about over there…" Janine trailed off as she saw Kratos sitting on the floor, at the pink and white scar tissue along his right arm.

They hadn't seen each other since Kratos and the others had returned from Efreet's temple; most of that was on Kratos as he'd been avoiding her, unsure of what to do or how to act around her. His interactions with people of the opposite gender extended to Martel,Myraand girls in the capital and the town near the military school. Girls had never been interested in him romantically. It was a fact he'd accepted early on and it had never particularly bothered him.

The children clamored around Janine immediately—they loved her, as she was one of the younger grown-ups who didn't mind spending time with them—and Kratos took the opportunity to slip out of the room, bidding a quiet goodbye to Mariel.

_(He'd thought he'd shaken the constant fear of his childhood; had thought that now that he'd found his courage, that he wouldn't have to run away anymore. He's wrong)_

* * *

 

"You gonna keep avoidin' me?"

Kratos looked back at Janine, arms folded across her stomach, leaning against the doorframe. It was almost a forced casualness. "You noticed that, huh?"

"I ain't blind or stupid. And I didn't think you for a coward."

Kratos didn't flinch at that. It was something he'd been called—and thought himself—often enough that being told it to his face didn't have much of an effect other than give him a healthy dose of shame. _(Perhaps his father hadn't been wrong after all)_

"Janine, I—how to say this?—"

"I get it. I ain't good enough." Janine pushed herself off the doorframe, preparing to turn and leave when his voice called her back.

"No! No, no, of course you are. It's that…I'm not very good at…well, with people in general, actually. And—I'm not sure if you heard—but, we're leaving tomorrow. For…what's it called? Izlion. General wants us to be there to meet the humans. I just—I don't think it'd be fair to you, 'specially since there's no guarantee that I'll ever be able to come back."

Janine walked towards him with easy stride and Kratos wondered where she got her confidence. "You think I don't know that?"

"I…don't really have an answer."

"I know that tomorrow's probably the last time we see each other. I ain't new to the war." Kratos backed up a step when she was right in front of him. "We could have the rest of today, just for us." She held out her hand, small and nimble. "Whaddaya say?"

Kratos thought about it, thought about having a day of trying to forget the war, a day away from all the things going on outside of the village and after he was through thinking, he put his hand in hers, smiling. "Let's do it."

* * *

 

When Yuan would ask him, later, how his day had been—for Yuan wasn't blind nor was he stupid. He saw the look on Janine's face, saw the one on Kratos' and he'd always been good at arithmetic so he could certainly put two and two together—Kratos could only remember it in flashes.

He remembered sitting on a rooftop, laughing with her. _(He can't remember why and he's not sure if he should)_ He remembered both of them telling stories, or perhaps memories, of their homeland, her more than him. _(His memories aren't always happy ones, but there's Yuan and that makes them seem all the brighter)_. He remembered that Janine tasted of spices and stale rainwater. He remembered her hands warm on his skin, but cool in comparison to the powerful sun.

When Martel and he were clearing up the table after supper—lentils and hard bread—that Martel said, "See, wasn't so bad, was it? The thing with Janine, I mean."

Kratos didn't question how Martel knew. Half the time, he agreed with Mithos that she had a mother's omniscience. "You were right."

"Your pride hurting to admit that?"

Kratos thought about it. "No." At one point—or perhaps to anyone else other than Martel—it would have, but it didn't anymore. How strange. He saw the smile on her face—or rather, the smirk. She'd known Yuan too long—and he snapped playfully, "Get the smirk off your face."

Martel's laughter made Kratos laugh as well, enjoying the slow ease of an end to the day.

* * *

 

Kratos was woken by shouting and by scrambling to his feet, sword appearing in his hand without him having any conscious recollection of having gone for it. When he looked around, the others weren't in their beds, but he did hear Mithos' voice in the hall.

"The hell's going on?" Kratos asked. His soldier senses were buzzing in the back of his head, a hornet's nest of activity.

"The humans moved during the night," Mithos said. It was too easy to see him in the dark hallway, all warm skin and pale blonde hair and bright blue eyes. "Arin rose the alarm before they could get inside the village. Him 'n Yuan're out takin' care of them. Martel's headed for the roof, said she can make a difference more from there. I figured that was a good idea—mages are just targets on a level battlefield after all—so I was gonna follow her."

"You do that. Yuan and Arin are out towards the front of the village?"

"Yeah. Just listen for 'em!" Mithos called, already jogging down the hall.

They really weren't difficult to find, not with flashes of lightning and short bursts of fire lighting up the cool darkness of the night. It was second nature for Kratos to slip into the flow of the fight, to slash at this man, duck, step, turn, stab, left hand out to block, leg forward to sweep, sword arcing down to piece precisely through the torso, muscle, heart. He heard voices behind him and he reacted—a spell in his throat and magic sparking down his arm through his fingertips and it exploded out of him, a sudden flash of light and fire, his sword following.

He heard Yuan behind him, saw him from the corner of his eye. Yuan didn't stop moving _(Can't stop. Can never stop. They'll catch us if we stop)_ , always ducking and dipping below their swords and axes, his double-headed spear whirling in his hands, lightning crackling over his skin, eyes bright.

Arin was a fearsome warrior. Kratos had known that, had seen the beads in his hair, but it had never really registered. Now, seeing him, eyes burning too bright—like a fever or perhaps simply trying to make up for the absence of Efreet—with a spear in hand, warm yellow tassels dangling off the end to catch the blood running from the tip. The yellow was completely obliterated, saturated as it was with the warm red.

Noishe was out there too, silver feathers flashing in the sun, beak stained and talons splattered with blood. The humans didn't seem to know what to make of him, many of them hesitating in shock at the enormous bird when they reached him. It gave the protozoan the opening he needed to attack, sharp beak piercing and plunging into flesh.

He tasted citrus before he saw the magic burst past him, saw the wave of water and was nearly blinded by the bright spears of light. Mithos and Martel, his mind registered. But even with the five of them and their magic and their skill, it wasn't enough. The humans had brought a small army and they, at least, could afford armor.

Kratos felt the mana in the air swell, felt it sweep past him like a powerful, hot wind and he followed it instinctively with his head, searching for the source. He was startled to find Mithos at the source and he wasn't; that kind of power had felt familiar, but he'd only felt it once and he wasn't particularly sensitive to these sorts of things.

Efreet, Kratos realized. Mithos was summoning Efreet.

He saw the glow of red-hot coals surround Mithos' feet, tracing itself into an expansive magic circle before the power released in a sudden breath and Efreet was right there, all hellhound fury and waves of fire, eyes brighter than the flames.

And as quickly as he'd come, he left, leaving behind only the smell of char, ash and burning bodies.

Yuan let out a loud breath of relief. Sweat shone on his forehead, his hair sticking to his face. "Remind me to hug that kid. I didn't think we were gonna make it, there were so many."

Arin glanced around. "Let's get back inside the village. There might be more of them and I'd rather not be a target."

Kratos agreed and followed him, having to step over more than a few bodies to do it. He stroked a hand down Noishe's neck. "C'mon. Let's get cleaned up." The bird trilled lowly and began walking.

The villagers surprised Kratos when they stepped back through the gates. He'd expected most of them to be hiding inside their homes or to be just coming out. They weren't. Most of them had knives or other small weapons in their hands, faces tense and battle-ready.

 _Don't underestimate those left behind._ Kratos snorted; he doubted he ever would again.

Upon seeing them, the smiles broke out on the villagers' faces and they ran to embrace them, clapping them on the shoulder and Kratos felt the cool brush of Janine's lips, the taste of spices and stale rainwater.

"Where's Mithos?" he asked her, trying not to touch her. The blood on his clothes and skin wasn't his, but Janine didn't need to be bloodied. That wasn't her life.

"He passed out," she told him. "Martel's takin' care of him."

"It's nothing to be concerned about," Arin assured Kratos. "Summoning takes a lot out of anyone and for someone as small as Mithos, it probably took out more."

There was a crackle and pop of lightning and thunder and Kratos whirled towards the sound. "Where's Yuan?"

Voices echoed and repeated the same question, but his blood brother's familiar voice or face was nowhere to be heard or seen.

Kratos fought his way out of the crowd, breaking into a sprint as soon as he was free. He headed straight past the village gates, to where the residual taste of Yuan's magic still lingered in his mouth. He saw more shapes than there should have been out in the remains of the battle and he felt the periodic shocks of power from here as Yuan struggled to get free.

He raised his arm—and his voice-, a spell halfway out of his mouth when something ripped into his side, sending him stumbling sideways. He whirled towards the attacker, ready to defend, but someone came up behind him, grabbing his arms and locking them behind his back. They twisted his right one to the point where he swore he heard it creak, his hand releasing the sword in a sudden spasm. Kratos kicked backwards, trying to gain some leverage, but whoever this was was too large to take on. He opened his mouth to speak a spell, but a bloody rag got shoved in his mouth and one hand wrapped around his throat, cutting off his air supply to the point where he began to see black dots.

_(He can still feel the sparking of Yuan's magic, can still feel his friend fighting and he wants to fight back, but the dark is so inviting, so quiet…)_

* * *

 

There were faces above him, blurry and brown. Voices, indistinct and murmuring, swirled around him. One came closer.

"…nother dose. One didn't do the trick…what? Impossible… He's a…rous one."

The blessed dark was back.

* * *

 

"…s...tos. _Kratos!"_

He woke groggily, something cold at his back. He was somewhere dark and whatever he was lying on was stone.

"Kratos? Can you hear me?"

He turned towards the familiar voice, a tension he hadn't known was there leaving him when he saw the blue eyes. "Yuan. Where are we?"

It should have been too dark to see Yuan's lips thin across the corridor, to see his eyes go hard. Should have been too dark to see the sleeve rolled up and the pale underside of the forearm exposed, the black numbers stark on skin.

The breath that left Kratos' body was that of a dying man. He glanced at his own arm. No number, but several white dots that hadn't been there before. He followed the line of his arm down to his left hand. His Exsphere had been taken out, leaving a round scab that looked less than a week old.

A ranch. They were at a ranch.

"What happened to us?"

"Shoudn' answer 'im. 'S not like he cares what happens to us anyway," another voice said, from around where Yuan was. Kratos focused harder—the Exsphere might have brought out as much of his natural ability as possible, but now that it was gone, its effects were fading fast and it was getting more and more difficult to see—and found dozens more people in the same cell—how had he not noticed the bars going vertically and horizontally?—as Yuan.

Yuan whipped around. "He _does_ care, alright? Leave off if you don't know what you're talking about."

Iron footsteps echoed down the hall, clanking closer and closer. Kratos saw the half-elves back towards the backs of the cells. Except, of course, for Yuan; his best friend was too proud to allow himself to fear something so small as footsteps.

Someone stopped in front of the cells, arms held behind their back. "Seems we haven't gotten the fight out of you yet."

Yuan smiled—or rather, he bared his teeth. "And you never will."

"Oh, I doubt that." The person turned to look at Kratos, dark eyes boring holes. "As for you…our doctors can't figure you out."

"Sorry to disappointm" Kratos said, pushing himself to sit up. It took more effort than it should have and his mind wasn't entirely clear yet.

"No you're not." The man held up a vial full of a glowing green liquid. "Our best scientists and doctors came up with this quite a while back. A drug that targets elven blood and neutralizes it. It's worked astoundingly well in the past. Until now. You barely reacted to it. Feel like sharing with the class as to why?"

Kratos shrugged clumsily. "'M just that special." Such a wonderful time to pick up Yuan's smart mouth.

The man's eyes glinted in the dimness. "Funny, that's what the doctors said. They're fascinated with you."

"Is that supposed to scare me?"

"No. But it will."

* * *

 

He was taken to an infirmary. It had been a long time since he'd been in a human one; the difference was noticeable as soon as one walked through the door. In Martel's clinic, there were herbs hung everywhere, jars of salves on shelves and various plants at the windows. Here, everything was white, sterile. Nothing but needles and magitechnology everywhere.

_(He hasn't really been around magitechnology since Yuan gave him his blood. The feel of it now is terrible, wrong. It's not enough to make him sick, but it makes his throat run dry and his fingers itch.)_

Voices come down the hall and into the room. Kratos would have sat up, but he'd been strapped down, arms outstretched and legs together to form a cross. He couldn't really see them, looking down his body as he was.

"…you told me about." Kratos froze at the voice, something inside him trembling. Not him. Please, heavens…not him. General Sandor Aurion moved above Kratos and he barely withheld a gasp at the sight of his father.

Once, his father could have been called a handsome man. Dark hair that he always wore slicked back, strong features. Now, the dark hair was greyer with dark streaks in it, still slicked back, but those strong features had hard lines that hadn't been there before. Kratos struggled to find any sort of resemblance to him, but found that he couldn't.

"He doesn't look like much," Sandor was saying.

"Tell that to the half a desert-full of dead men that him and another half-elf left behind them," the doctor said. "And you should see Jemson's men; one has a dislocated kneecap, a few with broken noses, a whole group that have signs of electrocution…this one and his friend are more dangerous than they look, sir."

"Have we identification?"

"The other one, yes." The doctor consulted his notes. "Subject E-583495, five foot nine, age—a young man, though the exact number is debatable—weight a hundred and twenty pounds, hair blue, eyes blue, half-breed—"

"Half-elf," Kratos coughed out. His throat was still dry.

Both the doctor and his father looked down at him like he'd done something interesting. "What?"

"Half-elf is the correct term."

"Not for that kind of scum."

Kratos tilted his chin, a defiant move for someone pinned down like a butterfly on a wheel. "I suppose you're an entirely different sort of scum, then?" So long as he ignored—as much as he could, anyway—that his father was in the room, his courage, and Yuan's apparently transferable smart mouth, wouldn't fail him.

A heavy hand cracked across Kratos' face, hard enough that he knew there would be a bruise tomorrow. Sandor still stood there with an arm raised. "Brave words for someone in your position."

The doctor waved the general aside. "Have you a name, boy?"

Kratos glanced at his father. A part of him considered giving his name, just to see the reaction. _(He hopes his father will care, hopes that there will even be a reaction, but he's older now. He doesn't have the illusions he had when he was ten and young and believing his father to be the center of his world)_ "Does it matter? You'll just give me a number and I'll be one among the thousands."

"Rebellious to the end, aren't you?"

"Someone has to be."

"It could make things easier on you."

"It won't," Kratos said with certainty. He had no illusions about how he was going to be treated. He wasn't human anymore, their blood tests showed that; he was as good as a half-elf to them.

* * *

 

The drugs and tests continued for weeks—or so it felt. Kratos had no measurement of time. He was kept away from the others, closer to the labs. He had no idea if Yuan was still alive, how he was doing. Every day was a haze in the too-white walls and the proximity to the magitechnology paired with the cocktail of drugs coursing through his system had made him sick on more than one occasion.

His father didn't show up often. Kratos would see him, walking with the doctor, but there was never any recognition the rare times that he even deigned to look in the cell.

"…getting the numbers straight. There was a lot of chaos in that desert."

"What're the numbers looking like right now?" His father again, walking down this corridor. Kratos wondered what else was in this hall that made generals walk through them so regularly.

"At least fifty dead. Probably more. Jemson reported that some…fire demon that the half-elves conjured burnt a lot of them to ash, so any remains of those will have been taken by the wind by now. You said something about a test subject?"

"Yes, the one resisting the half-elf drug."

"Resisting or is immune?"

"Resisting. At least a double dose has been needed to make any kind of useful effect."

"And this subject is where?"

"Right here."

Kratos didn't look up as his father and another man stood in front of the cell. His shoulders seemed to hunch a little out of their own accord, the rags he'd been given to wear rather than his familiarly worn breeches and shirt were slightly too small on him and did little to help him hide. His throat felt tight and parched, having not used his voice since he saw Yuan that first day.

"I expected something a little more impressive."

"So did I."

"Have the blood tests come through?"

"They come in tomorrow."

A noise of understanding. "It hasn't been numbered?"

"Not yet. We've been waiting for results to properly classify it."

"I see." The other man—something about his voice was vaguely familiar, but Kratos couldn't focus on it with the current drugs in his system—seemed about to say more, but was cut off by shouting down the hall.

"Grab him!"

"Don't let him get away!"

Kratos managed to maneuver himself onto his knees with some difficulty, the world spinning and the ceiling falling in a dangerous way. He crawled to the edge of his cell, bracing himself on the bars and pressing his face against cool metal to try and get the angle to see what was going on.

Kratos swore he saw a flash of blue _(Blue like the ocean and summer rivers under dappled sunlight, like wide skies and pages lit by moonlight)_ before two soldiers grabbed the escapee by the arms, jerking him flared and flashed, but the soldiers didn't let go, despite the spasms that ran through their bodies the instant before the captured prisoner vomited. Doing magic—even small magic like that—so near magitechnology must not have been a pleasant experience.

He had to work to focus on the face, to recognize the familiar-strange face with its elven angles and triangular ears, with the humanly arrogant tilt of the head and the fierce pride in the slightly slanted eyes. One of those eyes was swollen and bruised, the face thinner than it had been and the lip split.

His father strode forward towards Yuan. The two soldiers holding him down snapped to attention. "General, sir. This prisoner was trying to escape."

"And where was it working?"

"…In the yard, sir."

"Would you like to explain to me, then, how it managed to get all the way in here without anyone catching it?"

Kratos clenched his fists around the bars; it was an involuntary, instinctive reaction now. His mind might be having trouble functioning past the haze in his mind, but his body still remembered. It. His own father was calling an entire race of people its.

"Half-elves are smarter than you give us credit for," Yuan said, unafraid to look one of the generals of the human army in the eye. "And the more you underestimate us, the faster your army will go down."

_(He believes in Mithos-and-Martel's ideal world, he really does. He believes them when they say that there can be a peaceful end to the war, but he can't stop himself from hating the man in front of him. It had begun because he was human, because he'd taken him from his pomegranate trees and his fields with their flocks. But he hates him because Yuan has a reason to thank him now. Had Kratos' father not taken him, he and Kratos would never have met—the very thought makes something inside him shrivel at the very same time that some emotion floods inside, like lungs would fill with water—and he hates him for what he did to Kratos. It had never been anything physical, no beatings, no whippings, but the damage was just as permanent. He hates him for what he represents, hates him enough that seeing him now makes Yuan want to spit and rage and snarl)_

"And what makes you so confident?"

"Old men tend to make mistakes." Yuan wasn't surprised when the fist came down, had even braced himself for it. He knew it wouldn't be the general who did it; the man was too controlled for that. But the other soldiers weren't. It was all too easy to make them enraged when they respected their general so much. _(Yuan tries not to see the possible parallel, tries not to see Kratos in his father in that way. Kratos is good at earning people's respect, is honest and polite enough and has enough strength to back up his own words. He knows that the general is, in some ways, much the same)_

"These half-breeds don't got no manners, talking like that to a general."

"Any," Yuan corrected, spitting out a glob of blood. He'd bit his cheek when they punched him, hard.

"What?" Everyone looked at him then.

"Half-breeds don't have _any_ manners. If you're going to insult us, at least do it properly. Aren't humans taught to read and write? One of your superiority things?"

A distant thump on metal distracted him and he tried to find the source of the sound. It took some head tilting and neck arching to see around the general and the man beside him, but he saw a cell and a familiar head of bird's nest auburn hair. The tension left his body in relief. He hadn't seen any sign of Kratos since they'd taken him away that third day, only the second for Kratos, after he woke up. But he was alive.

_(He can imagine the look on Kratos' face, the exasperation. It feels good to declare the knowledge that Kratos taught him, to show it to humans who'd denied the same right to his people for so long)_

"You are literate?" the general asked.

"Moreso than your soldiers here, apparently. Or are humans so concerned with the warfront that they're forgetting about education?"

"And what blood traitor did you learn to read from?" Yuan wondered if the general was making a mental list, checking off names with every report of the dead brought back from every battlefield.

Yuan didn't smile, but bore his teeth in a dreadful approximation of one. "Your son." Yuan severely doubted that Kratos had been outed as the great general's only child yet. He would've heard the gossip among the other slaves or the soldiers, would have heard _something._

Yuan wondered if the general made the connection, if he even remembered the slave he'd gone with his son to pick out, the slave that his small, timid son had escaped the military school with.

The general's eyes—very different from Kratos', a brown dark enough to look black. Kratos really did take after his mother—hardened into cool stones. "I have no son."

_(A part of Yuan regrets making the general say that within perfect earshot of Kratos. Another part of him thinks that Kratos needed to hear it a long time ago.)_

* * *

 

"A hundred and twenty-seven." Agenor sat across the desk, leaning back against the chair and knees protesting the movement. He was grateful to be back at a camp rather than out on the front; his old bones couldn't take that kind of battle anymore. "That's how many have been reported dead in the desert. Those half-breeds were good warriors, whatever else you might say about them."

"They weren't both half-breeds," Sandor said, looking down at a paper in front of him.

"Sorry?"

"The blood results came back."

"The one that resisted the drug?"

"Yes."

Agenor frowned, not understanding. It wasn't like Sandor to be bothered so much by something like this. "So what has that look on your face?"

Sandor thought for a minute on how precisely to phrase this. "…What would you say if I told you that the one who resisted the drug was Kratos?"

Agenor started. "Your son?"

"Yes."

"I'd ask if you were feeling alright. Your son was never a soldier."

"I know." Sandor remembered the boy, always timid and small, with a book in his hands and flinching at a harsh word. Even when he last saw him, at the military school, he'd been hunched shoulders and meekness. Not someone who could participate in the killing of a hundred and twenty-seven people. Not the man he'd seen lying on that table in the infirmary.

That man had been a little thin from malnourishment, but muscles were evident, particularly along his arms. A pink and white scar had flared along the right arm and there had been a red and brown one splattered on his stomach, reaching around his ribs. The lines of his face had been hard, lean, with a few days' worth of beard stubbling it.

"But apparently, that man's blood is a match for mine, besides the rather strong traces of half-elven blood. All that human blood in him dilutes the drug's effects."

Agenor leaned forward, not quite understanding. Or perhaps, not wanting to understand. "The person I saw in that cell…that's Kratos?"

"If the blood tests are to be believed, then yes."

Agenor remembered the man that hadn't looked up as he'd looked into the cell. The man hadn't been timid or afraid, but resigned or…waiting, was a good term for it. Though what he'd been waiting for was beyond him.

"What will you do?"

"He's a blood traitor."

In other words, Sandor would do what was necessary.

"…Allow me a chance to speak with him first. See if we can't turn him back."

"It's not worth it. Even if you could convince him, we could never trust him."

"Of course not. But whether it is worth it or not, I'm going to try."

* * *

 

He really didn't recognize this boy. No, not a boy anymore. The person sitting in that cell was quite clearly a man now, all broad shoulders and lean, strong muscle. He'd told the doctor not to administer the drugs for at least a day. He wanted the man lucid for this conversation.

"Kratos?"

The man looked up automatically. Agenor studied the face. The lines were leaner and it was strange to see the growth of beard, but yes, that was Sandor's son. Had the same chin, the same stubborn mouth. And Kratos had always taken after his mother, Melina; an intellectual, never a fighter and she was a singular woman where looks were concerned.

"…Agenor," Kratos said and the older man was surprised by the depth of his voice, the hoarseness of disuse notwithstanding. "You're still alive."

"I could say the same thing about you. No one's heard anything about you since you left." Kratos shrugged. "Did you really teach that half-breed to read?"

"Half- _elf_." The bite in his voice was unexpected. Sandor had gotten his wish; his son had become a fighter, a soldier. "And yes, I did."

"Why?" Agenor was curious about the mindset behind the action, wanted to know if it had been a child's innocence or a premature rebellion against his father.

"Because there's no reason that they shouldn't be given that chance to learn." Kratos' voice was different and not only the depth of it. Some of his words were strangely accented now and Agenor had seen enough soldiers to know why. They spent so much time in the company of others from so many other places that accents sort of seeped into the language if they weren't careful.

"Is that really what you believe?"

Kratos leaned his head back against the wall. "Lemme guess, you're about to go on a small speech on how humans are _so_ superior that we deserve to have half-elves as slaves for no other reason than they believe something different than we do? That they look different, _are_ different? That they have different blood than you do?"

"I suppose you're not human anymore. Not after what they did to you." Agenor hesitated for a moment. "I saw the blood test."

Kratos' back snapped up, fire in his eyes. "Don't say it like it's something unfortunate. The half-elf that did it is my best friend and he did it to save me because _you_ perverted elven weapons with magitechnology."

"Is that half-br—elf the one you taught to read?"

"Yes, it is. And no matter what you do or say to me, I won't regret ever teaching him, or the others."

"Others?" Agenor repeated. "You taught others?"

"Of course I did. They deserve the same chances that humans and elves do."

Agenor sighed. "It's sad that you believe that."

"Why? Because there's a half-elven child with your face, or your eyes?" Kratos snapped. He didn't like being cooped up for so long, hated being here, hated knowing that his own sire was the one doing these things to people who didn't deserve it.

Agenor's eyes flashed. "You're going too far, boy."

"This entire war has gone too far for too long. Do you even know why you're fighting it anymore?" Kratos stood and there was a cracking and popping of joints held in one position for too long. Agenor was startled to find that Kratos was nearly as tall as him. "Tell me honestly, why are you fighting?"

"Answer the question yourself."

"I'm fighting to keep my people safe." Kratos knew that Agenor would understand the meaning behind it. Humans weren't his people anymore. He wasn't welcome in his own homeland, wasn't wanted by his own father _(In truth, he knows he never was, but he doesn't think about it)_. He remembered Mithos' smile as he passed him a bowl of stew when Kratos came back from patrol to their little fire, remembered Martel's arms wrapping around him when he, Mithos and Yuan came back from the front, her words of thanks whispered to the Summon Spirits that they were all okay. And Yuan, always Yuan. Half-elves, while wary and distrustful, had allowed him inside their walls, inside their homes. Half-elves were his brothers, his friends, his family. "I'm fighting to end this stupid war, to find a way for everyone to live in peace."

"It's a child's dream."

It brought Mithos' face to the forefront of his mind, summer-sky eyes stubborn as stone. "You have no idea how literal you're being. But child's dream or not, it's the reason. Your turn."

"I'm fighting for my people too, to give us the rights we deserve. The elves have had control of this land for too long."

"Is that you or your fathers and grandfathers saying it?" (… _From his father's knee, he would have heard stories of the great heroes of the war and the great monsters they'd battled and how they'd defeated the king's armies at Seagull's Pass. He'd have been taught to defend the town at all costs, would have been said that that was the highest honor any man could have, was to defend his home. It was never a question. He's just like the man Kratos killed. Perhaps they all are.)_

Agenor was faintly disturbed by the too-old wisdom in Kratos' eyes. The man was too young to have that kind of wisdom. _(Elves and half-breeds have that look—too old for the youth of their faces. It's only further proof that Kratos isn't one of them anymore)_ "The words are mine own. Don't presume things."

"My apologies." The sarcasm was sharp and dry. "If you'll excuse me, I do have other things that need attending. As you can see, I've been granted so many liberties."

The man was nothing like the boy. The boy had been quiet and meek and timid, but smiling, happy enough. The man was like a tree finally grown into itself—solid, unyielding and stubborn. There were touches of bitterness to him, sharp edges, and a new, almost bestial quality that made him do the same as the half-breed had and bare his teeth in a smile. It was something threatening, something that promised violence if there was ever a chance to get out of here. It was something Agenor would never have expected out of the gentle boy.

The man was walls and sharp edges and bared fangs and bristled fur. He was stubborn and had found some kind of courage and Agenor wondered what would have happened if he'd never met that slave.

* * *

 

He didn't fit in with these people, something that frustrated him because they were _his_ people. Half-elves, trapped and enslaved and worked until there was so little of them left. They didn't believe him when he said that things were getting better outside the walls of the ranch—he was exaggerating, but he wasn't lying—and they didn't believe him when he told them that he would get them out of here.

These people in the ranches were without hope and it frustrated and angered him. It made him rebel against the guards and soldiers even more, which made them whip and beat him. The others gave him pitying looks.

"'S no use," they told him. "You can't fight forever."

"Watch me," Yuan challenged. Because at least he was fighting.

And they did. Through all the lashes and the starving and the beatings. But he kept fighting and their complete inability to understand why did nothing more than anger him more.

So when someone new was tossed into his cell, he turned automatically towards them. When he recognized them, he was unable to hide the grin. "Looking a little scruffy there, mountain man."

Kratos looked up and laughed, actually laughed, and it looked like it was the first positive emotion to cross his face in weeks, which it probably was. "You don't look much prettier."

Yuan's grin grew, even as he rose and crossed the small space between them to pull Kratos into a hug. "You _are_ okay, right?" Even as he stepped back out of the embrace, he took Kratos' left arm, searching for black ink. There wasn't any.

"Yeah, 'm fine." Kratos followed Yuan's eyes. "They're trying to pretend I don't exist."

Yuan frowned. "Do they know? About…your dad."

Kratos ran a hand through his hair in a habitual movement, wincing when his fingers raked through tangles. "Yeah…Agenor came to see me."

"What'd he say?"

"Tried to convince me that half-elves—he wasn't actually that polite—weren't worth dying for."

"I bet that went well."

"You'd lose that bet."

The muttering of the other prisoners, ignored until now, became a little louder, the looks dirtier. Kratos had known his reception wouldn't be a good one and he grabbed Yuan's arm to stop him from doing anything rash. "You won't get anywhere with them and you know it. Not here."

"They take your fight away too?"

Kratos' brow furrowed and he narrowed his eyes at the bruises on Yuan's face. Some were yellowed, others still plum-colored and dark on his skin. There were cuts as well, scabbed over and healing. He spun Yuan slowly around and Yuan let him. He hissed in a breath at the sight of his back, the blood making the ragged shirt stick to his skin, fibers no doubt getting caught in the healing scabs.

"I knew they were hurting you, but I didn't think it'd get this bad."

"I'm _fine._ "

"Let me see."

Yuan sighed, knowing that there was no arguing with Kratos when he got like this. He winced as he tried to maneuver his way out of the shirt with as little effort as possible.

One of the other half-elves stepped forward. "Yuan, stop. You don't have to listen to 'im just because he's human."

Kratos looked at them, curious at their reaction even as Yuan glared at them defensively. "That's real nice coming from you, Fiel. And, for the record, I'm not doing it because he's human. I'm doing it because he's my best friend and I trust him."

"He's a human." The word was echoed and repeated through the cell.

"I'm stuck here, same as the rest of you," Kratos pointed out.

Yuan grabbed Kratos' right arm, turning it enough so that they could see the scar flaring across the skin. "See that? He got that fighting to defend the lot of you, fighting for everyone."

"Can't trust humans."

Yuan snarled in frustration and Kratos calmed him down. "Let me see your back."

It took more than a bit of maneuvering to get Yuan out of his shirt and Kratos flinched every time Yuan did. He had to lean closer to really see the damage and when he did, he had to clench his teeth to keep from saying anything. He let his hand hover over the wounds, still bloodied and many still open.

"First Aid," he murmured. Martel had taught him the spell—Yuan was next to useless with healing—and while he wasn't great at it, he could do simple things. The spell rushed out of him and his stomach twisted and knotted at the way the magitechnology's false mana entwined in the air with his own.

"You shouldn't do that," Yuan told him quietly. "It'll make you sick."

"Not as fast as it would you." Kratos repeated the spell over Yuan's lower back, new skin closing over and knitting the wounds afresh. "These'll get infected if you leave them like that and then you'll have Martel scolding you."

Yuan chuckled. "I suppose." He paused, eyes able to discern the outlines of the other prisoners in the cell, but his mind ignoring them. "…Think they'll come for us?"

"You really think Noishe would let them leave us here?"

_(They don't think about the possibility of being here forever, of being trapped behind walls with so little sky. Without warm hazel eyes and a child's grin sparking with mischief)_

* * *

 

"Sir, they're getting more and more rebellious." The boy in front of him didn't look at him, keeping his eyes focused on his feet.

"Do you know the cause?" Sandor asked, though he already had a very good guess.

"Subject E-583495 and the unnumbered one, sir. They were seen starting it. But others are following their examples."

"And where are those two now?"

"Subject E-583495 was handed over to Lieutenant Harroway and the unnumbered one was tied up outside."

"I'll take care of it. Dismissed."

"Yessir."

* * *

 

He waited two days before going out just to the edge of the property. He found the man-who-wasn't-his-son tied standing up to a rough tree in what must have been in full sunlight for these past days because there were sunburns on the bridge of his nose and cheeks and along his shoulders. Sandor didn't doubt that the guards who patrolled the area and who came to make sure that the prisoner was still there had had the pleasure of beating him while he was helpless to respond. There are bruises, yellow and purpled black, melding with the sunburns in a kind of sick finger painting.

Sandor took a moment to be curious as to what, exactly, the process had been for turning the frail, frightened coward his son had been into a warrior capable of killing hundreds.

"It won't work."

Kratos stiffened, and immediately regretted the motion. The rough bark of the tree had worn bloody sores into his back and his shoulders were stiff and the movement had stretched the tight, burned skin an inch too far.

But he hadn't been expecting his father. _(He hates himself for the fear that curls in his stomach, for the dread that hunches his shoulders and bows his head. He's not the same terrified boy he used to be; his father shouldn't be affecting him like this. But he is and it makes disgust mix with that old fear that makes the air smell like stale bread and that disgust gives him a kind of small, fragile strength)_

"…What won't?" His voice was rough, his throat parched. The ranch couldn't be far from the desert, he knew. Perhaps just over the mountains.

"Inspiring the half-breeds to rebel. They can't understand what you're doing for them. Why waste the effort?"

Because giving in, giving up, meant that the humans won, Kratos wanted to say. He wanted to ask his father if he really didn't see how terrible his actions were, how many lives he was destroying and ripping apart, if he really believed in all this. Had Kratos' mother seen that in his father? Was that why she'd left?

"The—they're smarter than you give them credit for. And stronger."

"Perhaps. But they're too frightened to do anything."

Kratos clenched his fists, the not-so-familiar anger that had recently come to rest at the pit of his stomach rising, strengthening his vocal cords, steeling his spine. He should have known. Of course his father knew exactly what he was doing to these people. "Why do you hate them?"

"They're barbarians and abominations, Kratos. They cling to their old gods and make no way for the future. If the world wants to progress, they need to be out of the way. They're mixed blood, too strong to be human and too weak to be elven." Kratos wanted to disagree, wanted to tell his father about how they were stronger than anyone, strong enough to withstand the hatred that both races had, strong enough to keep standing up after being knocked down, strong enough to find ways to smile in the middle of a war. "There isn't enough space for them and us on this planet. I chose a side."

Kratos didn't look up at his father, keeping his eyes on the dusty ground in front of him. But as he stared at the ground, he saw farther than he ever saw before. He saw generations stretching back hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of years, saw echoes of echoes of hatred, saw the loathing reflected from a mirror into another mirror, like an optical illusion, creating an endless corridor.

But mirrors could break and echoes only lasted so long and that thought makes the indignant fire in his stomach blaze a little brighter.

"And so did I."

Sandor was surprised when the man in front of him lifted his face back up _(It's his son, biologically, even if he swears up and down the street that they really are nothing alike)_. There was unwavering determination there and a confidence that seemed to reach down into the earth like roots. _(He pretends not to recognize them, but he does. He's seen those same things in his face in the mirror before. It's unnerving to see it on Kratos)_

"The rebellions won't continue. When dealing with a snake, best to cut it off at the head. You'll face the firing squad tomorrow at dawn."

* * *

 

His wrists were rubbed raw and bloody from trying to free them, splinters of wood scraped into the skin of his arms from the rough bark and his shoulders ached with stiffness, his legs burning and shaking a little from the constant support.

He glanced up at the sky. It was roughly an hour past midnight by the position of the moon. He had a few hours left then. He wondered if Yuan was going to be standing beside him when the soldiers fired. If he would be, no doubt he'd be spitting curses at the soldiers even as they pressed the triggers.

He was so distracted that he didn't notice the quiet steps until they were right beside him, making him jump. There was a flash of a toothy grin in the dark.

"Lost in your head again?" Yuan's familiar voice, so very near and absolutely _alive_ made Kratos smile despite himself.

"I always find my way back. How'd you get out?"

"Handcuffs can't hold me." Yuan held up a hand, the grin melting into a grimace. What little moonlight there was illuminated the blood running down his hand and wrist, particularly the deep scrape along the line of his thumb which was bent at an unnatural angle. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"You're lying."

"You look worse, believe me. Now hold still while I try and figure this knot out."

"You couldn't find a knife or something?" Kratos tilted his head back, trying to see Yuan working at the ropes.

"With what time? The guards'll notice I'm not there soon. I did, however manage to snag _these._ " Yuan's held out his hand palm-up, cradling two round orbs, one blue-gray like a good autumn sky and the other violently violet. Their Exspheres.

"…We can't leave these people here, Yuan."

He could feel the look his best friend shot him. "Of course not. But we can't save them from in here, Kratos. Let's get out, get to safety and see if we can't contact the others somehow. With enough people behind us—Hell, we might even only need Martel 'n Mithos—we could take this place."

He felt the instant that the knots came free and he hissed as his arms fell, flexing his muscles and rotating his shoulders as Yuan set to work on the ones around his ankles. "The guards'll be making their rounds soon."

"Then we should hurry."

As soon as Kratos' legs were free, they collapsed from underneath him, weak from holding his weight without rest. Yuan hoisted him up—"C'mon. We'll rest later."—and half-carried him as they stumbled their way towards the border.

It wasn't long before they heard shouting and they both glanced over their shoulders, fear paralyzing their lungs for moments before their instincts kicked in and they started running, or, as close to running as they could, with months of starvation behind them _(It's nothing new. They both remember the years on the road before they met Martel and Mithos on that boat, remember the shared slices of bread and how very grateful they were for apples found rotten on the ground beneath their barren trees)_.

The soldiers were rested and uninjured _(Hadn't been tortured)_ , so they weren't surprised when they caught up. This far from the ranch and all it's magitechnology, Yuan could let his magic loose, thunder roaring across the plain and lightning flashing from his fingertips. Kratos was right beside him, weaponless save for the words on his lips that made the night blaze bright and the earth shudder beneath them. _(He's more one of Them than of the Others now, but Yuan has always known he would be, has always seen it in him and hadn't Kratos been the one to teach him how strong words were in the first place?)_

They left bodies behind them—blackened and charred and sparking and crushed and bleeding—and they didn't look back.

* * *

 

 _"You really think evil is a choice?"_  
"Everything is. Each moment. Each day."  
-MacKayla Lane and Jericho Barrons **(The Fever Series)**

__


	57. Chapter 57

_"Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it and it will never be used to hurt you."_   
_-Tyrion Lannister **(A Game of Thrones by George RR Martin)**_

* * *

She shouldn't feel any sympathy for them, she knew that. The soldiers in town had already gone by her little house and told her to keep a lookout, that the ranch on the far side of the forest had been broken out of by two men. She knew what they were the moment she looked at them, knew that they'd been in the ranch and, if they were in the ranch, than they'd been put in there for a reason.

But the boy—he was human, she could tell, all hard lines, broad-browed and broad shoulders—looked like he was slipping down the stairs to get to Hell's doorway, beaten and bloodied like he was. And the one carrying him—his ears were triangular and there's a number inked in black on his left arm—was too thin and his hands were mangled something awful.

That hadn't made her sympathetic. Those half-breeds got what was coming to 'em. But then she made the mistake of glancing back after going to hitch up her pony cart so she could get to town to tell the militia about the escapees and she saw both of them, broken and very small against the backdrop of the plains flanked by the woods where there was so much sky.

_(She sees other boys. She sees her husband and her son, handsome and strong before the war. She hasn't heard from them since they were drafted two years ago.)_

She sighed and said, "Git inside, the both of y'all."

The human boy glanced up through shaggy, dirty bangs. His eyes were the color of road-dust when the blood had already gotten real mixed into the ground. He coughed and cleared his throat before he spoke, voice quiet and scratchy, "You sure, ma'am?"

Damned polite, the boy was. Particularly to someone who'd been about to turn him into his captors.

"Kratos," the half-breed said quietly. A warning.

The human—Kratos? An odd name, to be sure—looked up at the half-breed. "We don't have much choice, Yuan."

"I don't go back on my word. Git inside."

Her husband's house was small, a little place outside of town where they grew their small amount of vegetables and, before he'd been drafted, her husband had made a decent living out of being a trapper. Two bedrooms, an iron stove with a table and some animal skin blankets with some square chairs her oldest son had built before he'd been drafted three years ago _(Drafted and then killed in action. She gets the letter in town. These days, the townspeople pretend they never saw her break down)_

She ran an eye down both of them. Filthy and bloody. "There's a pump 'round back. Git yourselves cleaned up while I put something together to eat."

The half-breed seemed about to speak, but Kratos overrode him. "Thank you."

* * *

 

"Kratos, we can't trust her." Yuan gently dabbed away at Kratos' wounds along his back with a rough towel they'd found hanging over the pump. "She knows who we are and she was about to get the soldiers."

"But she didn't," Kratos pointed out, wincing. He'd become numb to the pain from his back a while ago, but it had come back full force with the water.

Yuan made a sound in his throat to show what he thought of that. Sometimes, he swore Kratos was still far too naïve to have survived the things he had for as long as he had. _(But that's why Kratos-and-Yuan work. It's a balancing effect. Naïveté to cynicism—though Yuan calls it pragmatism—thinking things through to impulsiveness, manners to blurting things out)_

"Can you heal yourself?" he asked. He wasn't as terrible at healing spells as Kratos seemed to think he was, but Kratos was still better at them.

The fact that it took Kratos a minute to answer was a better analysis of how his best friend was doing. Not that it was surprising. They'd been on the run for two days straight, unable to get real sleep; they'd caught quick snatches of it here and there, one always on guard, but it hadn't been enough. They'd reinserted the Exspheres into their skin, hissing and groaning when they did; the action had a hurt that was unlike any other. It had been particularly painful for Yuan, with his broken and bleeding hands, but they'd tried to heal his hands first once they'd lost the soldiers. They'd managed to stop the bleeding, but Kratos was hesitant to try to fix the broken thumb. If he did it wrong, once they found their way back to Martel and Mithos _(He doesn't think in ifs)_ that they'd have to rebreak the bones to heal it properly, so they used some of the little cloth they had and wrapped it so, at the very least, he wouldn't jar it while trying to do anything.

The mana inside him that Yuan had grown so accustomed to tapping into—Alstan grew angry with him more than once. Only amateurs used their own mana for spells, but this was an emergency and, out here, where the ground was scraggly and yellow and the trees felt so very empty _(Not like the trees he remembers, heavy with pomegranates. Those had a feel to them, alive and ever-reaching higher, to the sun and stars)_ the land needed its own mana to keep itself going.

_(Something in him knows then that something has gone wrong in the world. He, as many other half-elves, had grown up with stories of the elven-lands, of the Kharlan Tree that was as old as the earth, that released infinite mana. He doesn't know what it is at the time, but he knows that something isn't right, senses that the land is dying)_

"First Aid," Yuan murmured. He had a very tight control over his mana; he should, logically, be a natural at healing. He wasn't; his control was _too_ tight. Tight with fear and wariness of the things his magic had done and concern because he didn't want any of those things to happen to Kratos by accident. His magic, whatever Martel said, had been made for killing.

Kratos winced; Yuan was very literal with his magic and when he thought of knitting up wounds, that was what happened. His skin arched and stretched like an imaginary needle was guiding it.

Yuan would have rubbed a soothing hand over Kratos' shoulder, but the sunburns had taken their toll; Kratos' tanned skin was glaringly red, peeling and hot to the touch. "Would you rather have the sores?"

Kratos huffed and didn't reply otherwise. Yuan's hands paused over Kratos' back. "…D'you think Mithos 'n Martel are still looking for us?"

"Of course they are."

"Any idea where we are?" Yuan knew that Kratos had been much more interested in maps than he had been, despite the fact that Yuan had always wanted to explore the world away from his little village in the mountains. _  
_

"We're pretty far west, I know that. I wanna say that we're over the mountains where Efreet's temple was built, but just how far away we are from them, I have no idea. If we can find the ocean, we can follow it to a harbor town."

Kratos watched the blood drain from Yuan's face beneath the dirt and blood. He held out a hand for the rag, and gently took it from his friend's hand when he didn't pass it. He ran it under the pump before looking back at him, wiping at the stubborn grime that was several layers thick. "The boat'll be a last resort," he assured him. He wasn't entirely comfortable about the idea of going on a boat again either _(Yuan is right next to him one moment, gone the next…waves crashing and he's clutching at the railing…Noishe diving in, sleek and powerful and scrambling to the surface, wings beating the water with a familiar person caught in his beak)_

"Capital's a ways away from here," Yuan said.

Kratos hummed in agreement. Here, out behind this little shack of a house, sitting in the dirt with rust-tainted water to clean themselves with, there was a strange measure of peace, of rest. _(It's just them against the world again, Yuan-and-Kratos and heaven help any who would stand in their way)_ "We can make it, I think."

He washed the dirt from the rag before starting again at his scrubbing. He paused as he looked at Yuan's left arm, the black ink like a dark bruise beneath the dirt. Yuan met his eyes. "We should keep it covered, while we're on the road at least."

"…Yeah."

"…What…happened? With your father?"

Yuan saw Kratos freeze in an old, instinctive movement. "…He tried to convince me that rebelling wouldn't work. Called you barbarians and abominations." His fist clenched of its own accord. "I wanted to hurt him. I never thought that about anyone before—not so specifically—but I did."

Yuan wasn't sure whether to be concerned or touched. "Did he hurt you?" Yuan asked, his voice the kind of quiet that was there before the storm broke.

 _(…A heavy hand cracking across his face…)_ "Not really." Kratos opened his mouth once, twice, before closing it in thought. He laughed a little, a sound like broken glass. "I was still afraid of him, Yuan. I saw him, standing in front of me, and I saw this old man and all I could think was that I shouldn't be afraid of him, but I was. And you know the worst part? I think I always will be."

Yuan didn't quite know what to say. "…I think that…it's easy to be brave when, when you're faced with people without faces or names," _(They're not faceless or nameless. Yuan still sees Khuey, handsome and laughing moments before his death. He still sees the child-soldiers faces, lying charred and sparking on the ground or run through with his spear. He wonders, in a dim, detached sort of way if the soldiers who killed Dehua and Kail could still see their faces, or if those people were even still alive. Had he exacted revenge on the brothers he can't remember by accident?)_ "…You stood up to him though, which I think means you're braver than you thought."

Kratos frowned at him. "How do you know I stood up to him?" Those words alone give him some kind of stability, like strapping steel to his spine.

"Because I know you," Yuan said simply and, perhaps, it really _was_ that simple.

* * *

 

"Amaranda made stew."

Martel glanced towards the door. Tilwin—one of the fishermen in Izlion—was weather-beaten and rough, but he'd been the first to open his home to her and Mithos. _"We might not be here for long," he'd said, arm around his wife's shoulders after Martel explained why she and her brother were here. "But you're welcome."_

"I'm not very hungry." Martel hadn't had much of an appetite for months, not since Kratos and Yuan had disappeared _(Were taken, her heart whispers, but she doesn't want to think about those consequences)_. Now, mere weeks after the successful defense of Izlion against the human troops—well, the mass of the human troops. Small battalions kept trying to break their defenses—at Mithos' bedside after he'd, yet again, exhausted himself to the point where he'd been coughing blood, she'd lost her appetite almost entirely.

"You should still eat something, Lady. Not a very good example to be settin' for Mithos otherwise."

He had a point and he knew it. Martel wondered why she had to be the woman to meet the men who were so very good at arguing. She massaged a temple, still not moving from her chair. "It feels endless. The fighting."

"Fightin' ain't good for a woman."

Martel felt a dim flash of temper, but her own tiredness was winning out. The humans had attacked again yesterday and, while she and Mithos had been working to teach the citizens of Izlion to use magic offensively rather than to direct favorable winds through their sails and to keep the typhoons away, but there were still not nearly enough of them to take on even the remnants of the human army.

_(And still, Yuan and Kratos linger in the back of her mind. Let them be alright, she prays. Let them be alive and with each other. It's a strange prayer, she realizes later, but it's one that somehow makes perfect sense. Nothing could take down Yuan-and-Kratos, so therefore, if they were together, they'd be okay)_

"It's not good for anyone," she said. Perhaps all this continuous fighting was mellowing her out.

"No, it isn't," Tilwin agreed. "Come eat with us and we'll save some for your brother since he'll wake up hungry."

"…Alright." She glanced back towards Mithos before she stood to leave the room. Usually, she wouldn't have had a problem leaving Mithos because Noishe was always around nearby, but lately, Noishe had been either circling the town, restless as could be _(He's torn between duties. Protozoans, so the old legends say, are the natural protectors of the world and Noishe is naturally protective of women and children, but then there's the fact that it's Yuan-and-Kratos that's missing and he feels the need to find them)_ or he'd go flying. Every time he landed from a day of soaring and searching, Martel would wait for him on the ground, hoping that he had some kind of message, but there hadn't been one yet.

"Have you slept?" Tilwin asked as she took a seat at the table.

"Not since yesterday."

"Don't fratch at her." Tilwin's wife, Amaranda, might have been a beauty when she was young, but the years had matured that beauty and transformed it into something very different, but no less lovely. "She's a grown woman an' can make her own decisions."

Martel smiled at the support, and yet she could still see Kratos' concerned look and the question he didn't voice, but that she heard anyway— _Are you alright?—_ as though he were right in front of her. She could almost feel Yuan's warmth beside her— _Is it the faces again?_ —and she didn't have to imagine Mithos' disapproving frown. He'd given her that look a few days ago.

Tilwin backed down at his wife's scolding and Martel managed to eat in peace. But as she helped Amaranda with the dishes, the other woman said quietly, "You're waiting for someone, aren't you?"

Martel stared at her. "…How did you know?"

"It ain't an uncommon thing in a fishing town. Boys go out even when their girls tell them it's a bad idea, say they're going to explore the world, and they never come back, leave the girls waitin' on the pier. You got that same look t'you."

"…I'm waiting for someones actually."

"Family?"

Martel hummed a yes before she thought about it. She'd never thought about it before, but somewhere, they became family. A family with ever-shifting roles that they had to play because none of them really had a chance to be children _(Kratos-and-Yuan got closer than Mithos-and-Martel, but it still wasn't much)_.

"Were they taken? To the ranch?"

There was a sudden hard lump in her throat. "I think so."

"My next door neighbor growin' up got taken too. Ain't seen her since we were…well, we were younger than you."

Why was it that everyone had a ranch story? Everyone knew someone who knew someone that was taken. Martel hated it and she closed her eyes, the world suddenly reeling. How long could all of this go on? How long could hate spur people to continue with a war that was hurting everyone?

"It has to stop," she found herself saying, as though the weight of the spoken word would make it all come true. "All of it. It's gotta stop."

* * *

 

Mithos woke up with a shout, coiled in his blankets and mana sparking on his skin. Martel was beside him in an instant, smelling of sea salt and exhaustion with the smell of Heimdall clinging to her in fresh, moist soil and sweet herbs that never seemed to go away.

"You're alright," she said quietly, running a gentle hand through the tangles of his hair. She repeated it over and over like a litany. _(It's like it's just them again, Before they'd ever met Kratos-and-Yuan on that boat)_

Martel never asked about what he saw in his nightmares _(Sometimes, it's the world breaking and falling apart, crumbling into the darkness of space. Sometimes it's the neon colors of mana dancing behind his eyelids so rapidly it makes him sick. Sometimes, it's those neon colors rotting and dying and he dreams of a skeleton of what must have been a grand tree once. Most of the time, his nightmares involve Kratos facing down an army on the wrong side, the humans beside him, his too-old eyes empty. They involve Yuan shackled without a spark of fight left in him. They involve Martel lying dead at his feet)_

He noticed Noishe curled in the corner, his eyes alight and on the window. "…No sign of them?"

Noishe glanced at him, green brown-speckled eyes so intelligent and so terrible sad.

"They're somewhere. They have to be."

Neither Martel nor Mithos said what they were thinking. That it was very possible for them to be somewhere that none of them could reach, a place beyond this terrible, war-torn world.

The nightmares were in front of him, ghostly and superimposed over the small room that he and Martel shared _(Trees…colors…dead…dying…shackled…)_ and the words spill out of him like a cup overfull.

"We've gotta fix it."

Martel didn't look at him with confusion or with concern. He saw the same quiet determination in her eyes that he felt. _(People have always told them that they don't look like brother and sister. Mithos has always agreed. Martel is earthy and warm where he's…not.)_

She just nodded. "Yeah, we do."

Because who else would?

* * *

 

The temple in Izlion was old with sea-beaten walls that were riddled with holes from the salty air. There were eleven altars, one for each Summon Spirit. Origin's—the King—naturally had the center place and directly to his right was Ratatosk, the Spirit of the Giant Kharlan Tree that gave the world its mana to survive, but directly to Origin's left was Undine, who had many more offerings and candle stubs left. It made sense in a town whose main businesses were fishing and ocean trade.

Upon each of the altars was a likeness of the Spirits carved in driftwood, for, according to Amaranda, the Spirits work in mysterious ways and that, in all the stories, the Spirits come in unexpected ways and who expected a great gift from something like driftwood?

The temple in Heimdall had been much more elegant, even as it had been more natural, made out of smooth, sinuous wood and was always full of sunlight. Martel remembered going with her parents to listen to the teachings. Mama had taken her to the temple when she'd been pregnant with Mithos to make an offering to Luna, the benevolent Mother, for the safe birth of her child. Her father, despite being elven, had prayed to Origin, who was not only the King, but also the Warrior who had four lances—two made of newborn stars and the other two made of fallen ones—to protect soldiers and their families and to find a way to end the War. Martel doubted that Mithos remembered such things and found a small, selfish pleasure in having some memories that she didn't have to share with her brother.

After being ushered out of the house by Amaranda, saying that it would be good to get some time to herself and to enjoy it, Martel had found herself here, at the temple. She found herself feeling slightly awkward; she didn't know how to pray really. Sure, there had been desperate prayers on the battlefield, but here? In the calm before another storm, alone, without anyone dying beneath her hands? She wasn't sure she knew how. Surely her parents had taught her, once, but Martel couldn't remember it.

But she did remember that Origin was the King and any offerings were first offered to him, so she knelt before his altar, unsure of how to begin. Martel supposed she could mimic the other people she'd heard praying over bedsides, family members' hands in theirs. But hadn't the Summon Spirits been people at one point too? The stories said so. Martel knew that she would be tired of people treating her so differently after so long. Did anyone simply talk to them?

The sound of her voice surprised her because she hadn't made the decision to speak yet. "I'm sure it's not a new thing to ask of you. I'm sure you're asked this every day, but I don't think anyone's prayed for these boys before, so, uh, if you could, bring Kratos and Yuan back to us, because—I dunno—as warriors, aren't they supposed to be under your protection?" It was strange to articulate it to someone who wouldn't look at her with sadness or pity. Some things just needed to be said aloud, not responded to. "And my brother—let him stay safe and never change. He's known war too well for someone his age. I pray that…he'll get a childhood someday. A proper one."

Martel wasn't sure how to close that, so she stood and lit three candles, one for each of her boys. Origin's wooden figure had a handsome face—he was always depicted as such. Martel even remembered hearing some of the girls coming out of the schoolhouse talking about the way that, one day, Origin would carry them away—and she wondered if his face reminded every person with men in the war of their men's faces.

She looked around the temple, not sure who else to go to that she could pray for. There was Undine, Celsius, the Sylph, Luna with Aska having his own altar right beside hers because everyone knew that, despite Luna and Aska being more or less one entity _(Like Kratos-and-Yuan, like Mithos-and-Martel)_ and, across from them, Ratatosk, Volt, Efreet, Gnome and Shadow. The temple in Heimdall had an altar for Maxwell, but, for many half-elves, he'd always been a matter of debate on whether he was, in actuality, a Summon Spirit, or simply a very powerful mage.

She supposed she could pray to the Sylph; they were the Spirits that watched over lost souls and called their names on the wind so that those souls could follow the sound home. It couldn't hurt, at the very least. She lit candles and murmured another wish for them to guide Kratos and Yuan here.

It felt a little silly, praying to carved wooden figures and lighting candles in their honor, even though she had seen proof that Efreet existed, had even spoken with him. She felt like a child again, like she could reach her hand out and take her mother's hand—dry and soft and slender—as they walked to the temple.

Silly as it felt, staring at the small flames, Martel felt the weight of the imagined horrors that Kratos and Yuan were experiencing at the ranch lift from her shoulders just a little.

* * *

 

It really was just like the old days. Sleeping in pig pens and chicken coops, never staying in one place, stealing and scrounging for food. Except now, there was a notable difference and that's that they can feel the absence in the air where Mithos' smart remarks were supposed to be, where Martel's exasperated chuckles would fill. It was an absence that bothered and stuck with them and Yuan wanted nothing more than to be with the Yggdrasills again.

Their feet were cracked and swollen from so much walking, dried blood and dirt caking them. Hunger and thirst made them dizzy and, once, hallucinate. They stay hidden for much of the time, particularly after reading a wanted poster in a town for the both of them. No doubt bounty hunters would be after them now.

The weather was becoming milder, the air at noon more humid and the wind carried the scent of sea salt. So close to the ocean and yet, the closer they got to going back, the more likely it was that Yuan would wake up, voice locked in his throat and hands clawing at the ground, desperate to feel earth and not water beneath his fingers.

 _"You're okay."_ Kratos said those times, always nearby. _"I promise, you're not drowning."_

It was a terrible kind of thing. Yuan liked the ocean, liked the smell, the weather, liked its honesty, how it didn't hide its dangers like the mountains or the forest did. But the sight of the deep water, with its too powerful currents and the roiling waves were enough to make bile rise in his throat, enough to make him want to sprout wings and get as far away from the ocean as he could.

The last real meal they'd had was the thin, watery soup that the woman had given them almost two weeks ago. Since then, it was all scraps and stolen bread or food gone half-bad sitting in the trash. Kratos would dig for newspapers and read for any news of the war. It was never good news, but neither was it bad. The war was, more or less, at the same place still. For every city the humans overtook, the half-elves would scramble around their forces and capture one of theirs.

"The humans must be having problems then," Yuan said as Kratos read aloud an article. "We saw the plans for that weapon of theirs. Something must've gone wrong or else they'd be at an advantage."

"…I thought of something." Yuan tilted his head in a way that told Kratos he was listening. "In the—in the ranch, the humans had us collecting metal and putting the pieces together."

"Yeah, but most of that was for weapons. I recognized some of the stuff we made."

"What if there's a ranch dedicated to making this big, new weapon of theirs?"

Yuan stared at him. The idea was…not impossible, but… "If they are, it could be any one of a number of ranches. And they can't have much left to build. We heard about that weapon almost a year and a half ago."

Kratos folded the newspaper too neatly, carefully making the creases. "…We need to get back to the others. If Viren hasn't figured this out yet, he needs to know."

Yuan agreed, but there was the issue of the fact that they were, more or less, still stranded in the middle of human territory. He looked out towards the horizon, which he fancied he could see as blue-tinged, framing the harsh brown and faintly green landscape. The last winter had been a hard one and the land hadn't quite recovered. The ocean could lead them back home _(And when he thinks of home, he thinks of sun-bright smiles and rain-soft kisses)_ and Yuan had to work to steel himself against the sea, which called him still, a soft murmuring of longing, of a place well away from the hardships presented by the world.

* * *

 

They both woke to nightmares, hands clutching and scrabbling at the dirt beneath their fingernails and screams dying in the backs of their throats. They still saw the ranch, still felt shackles around their wrists and ankles, still felt needles in their skin and the weight of the utter hopelessness pressing down on them, crushing them beneath its horror.

When they woke and were still working on getting their breathing and heart rates back to normal, they'd stare at each other. _(Neither of them admits that it's terrifying because they don't recognize the person across from them, though something tells them they_ should _and, for a moment, their instincts bring the mana up and the magic words to their lips until the world clicks back into place and they feel like crying with relief because they recognized the other in time)_

The nightmares were the kind that followed you during the waking hours, the kind that made you see things out of the corner of your eye and made you hate leaving your back exposed. There were multiple nights in a row where neither of them slept, sitting back to back beside their little fire and struggling to keep their eyes open for fear of what would be waiting for them behind their eyelids.

* * *

 

Mithos watched his sister place a candle on the windowsill of the small room they had shared for what had been nearly six months. "What's that for?" he asked quietly.

"Tilwin said it's a custom here, for people waiting for their sailors to come home. They leave candles and lanterns on the windowsill to help guide the sailors back home." It was something unrelated to Summon Spirits on the surface, but Martel couldn't help but feel like it was a silent prayer to Undine just the same.

"You really think they will? Come back, I mean. It's been a real long time."

"I know, but…" But you didn't give up on family and that was what those men had become.

Mithos' lips tilted in an understanding smile and he stood from his position on his bed. "I guess I have to find a candle for myself then, huh?"

* * *

 

Mithos was helping rebuild the outer wall to the city that had gotten a tower blown away in an attack when he heard a familiar sharp whistle. Searching the skies, it wasn't difficult to find Noishe's silver feathers shimmering in the sky, circling above the town gate.

Mithos hopped down from the beam he'd made his perch before breaking into a run. Had Noishe found something? Were there more humans on the horizon?

Martel met him at the gate and Noishe was already tugging insistently at her sleeve. "Alright, alright. What is it?"

Noishe tossed his head insistently in a direction and took off at a run, his clawed feet gripping and ripping the earth as he ran. Mithos and Martel exchanged a look before chasing after him. Martel was grateful that she had stopped wearing dresses about a year ago; they were too impractical and made running a chore.

Noishe led them down the shore, past where the sand started becoming black stones and boulders and he hopped across the rocks before leaning down to nudge something with his beak. He stood straight again, head high like a beacon.

Mithos and Martel scrambled up the rocks, slipping slightly on their wet surface; the sun hadn't been in the sky long enough to dry them, even though high tide must have gone out hours ago. Martel's breath left her body in a rush at what she saw.

It was her men, her boys. They were thin _(Horribly thin, hauntingly skeletal)_ and lying face-down on the rocks. They were sunburned and she felt something inside her break at the half-healed wounds on Kratos' back and the unnatural angle of Yuan's thumbs, visible even through the rough bandaging. Let them be alive, she prayed, falling to her knees beside them, ignoring the pain that shot up her legs from hitting the rocks.

Mithos was beside them, gently tilting Kratos' head to the side to check for the pulse in his neck. The relief that hit the air was palpable and it only doubled when Martel felt the slow, but steady beat in Yuan's wrist.

But they were too far from town to carry them. Noishe could probably carry one of them, but not both. Not when Martel didn't know how badly off they were. "Mithos, go back to town and get some help."

Mithos didn't question her, standing immediately and sprinting for the town visible on the shore.

* * *

 

The smell of salt. A light breeze. Sunlight warming his arm. Seagulls. Something soft beneath him.

Yuan slowly cracked his eyes open, feeling as though he'd been asleep for centuries. There was a wooden ceiling above him, with strong, exposed beams. His instincts rose up, eyes searching the room for an enemy.

The only other people in the room was Kratos lying face-down in the next bed—and a lead weight left him when Yuan saw Kratos' back move up and down steadily. _(The last thing he remembers is the both of them feeling so very tired and wouldn't it be nice to take a break from walking? There's a town right there—surely they could stand to wait a few minutes…)_ —and Martel sitting in a chair by the window, on whose sill sat two candles half-gone, her staff leaning against her thighs.

Yuan opened his mouth to try and say something, to call out to her because, heavens, she had never looked more beautiful despite the faint, tired lines that traced a face that was too young for them. No words came, but he must have made some kind of sound because Martel's head jerked up.

She went to sit on the small sliver of the bed by his hip. The moment she touched the bed, he managed to raise his arm and pull her down on top of him, wrapping his arms around her, laughing and crying. She was _here_ , in his arms and he wasn't back in the ranch and she was safe.

She hugged him back tightly, tucking her nose into the hollow of his collarbone. He smelled of medicine and sea salt and himself, which smells a bit like how lightning tastes—but somewhere beneath it all, he still smelled a little of darkness, of terror and it wasn't a scent that belonged on him.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't come back," Martel murmured against his skin.

"How—" He coughed to clear his throat. "How long's it been?"

"Since you and Kratos were taken? Almost seven months. Since Noishe found you? Two weeks." Her skin was browner, but it looked dull and the long braid of spring green hair was messy and tangled. There were dark circles beneath her eyes. It had been a long seven months.

"I've been unconscious for two weeks?" His voice was hoarse and Martel must have heard it because she gently untangled herself from him and soaked a cloth in clean water that was soon lightly pressing against his lips before he opened his mouth and let it trickle down his throat. He smiled when the desert-dryness in his mouth left.

"No. You've been in a healing sleep for two weeks. You woke up a bit when we were bringing you here, but I had to put you to sleep to heal you properly." She paused. "There was a lot of damage."

Yuan turned his head sideways to look at Kratos, who, beyond breathing, showed no signs of life. Noishe was squished at the foot of the bed, head resting on Kratos' knees. The bird blinked at him slowly before trilling softly. There was raised half-healed scar tissue all along Kratos' back—some of that was Yuan's sloppy work, the rest Martel's. The burns on his shoulders were gone and the bruises were mostly gone, save for some yellow smears along his arm.

"Has Kratos woken?"

Martel shook her head as she carefully took one of Yuan's hands in hers. _(He remembers tugging and pulling his hand desperately through the handcuffs, trying to get free. He remembers feeling his bones creak in warning and he remembers making a split second decision because they'll kill him if he stays here any longer and he can't leave Kratos on his own. He remembers it during the day as a distant thing. It's at night when everything returns in horrible, vivid color and sharpness.)_

"No, but that's normal," she assured him. Her eyes were entirely focused on his hand, her fingers gently pressing in places, gingerly moving and rotating his thumb. "Because he has less elven blood, his body doesn't respond to healing mana nearly as well and he had more damage than you did." She glanced up at him, eyes serious. "Why is that?"

Yuan swallowed, trying to forget the face of Sandor Aurion. "If there's one thing humans hate as much as half-elves, it's blood traitors."

_(He can't tell her this truth. Can't tell her just what Kratos' father had done to them, what he was going to do. He can't tell her how the general affected the both of them because, as much as he'll never admit it, the general's mere memory is enough to freeze the pit of his stomach. He's as afraid of him as Kratos is, but the difference is that he's always reacted to bad situations with bristling and snarling where Kratos retreats into himself, shielding himself from the world. And he can't tell her any of this because it is a Yuan-and-Kratos secret and he can't tell her without Kratos' okay.)_

She took his other hand, repeating the process. Yuan remembered, somewhat, the white scars that his and Kratos' healing magic left of their wounds and he remembered watching the firelight flicker on the white scars scraped on the backs of his hands. The scars were gone now.

"…There's something you need to hear," she said solemnly. Yuan's heart began pounding in his chest; what had gone wrong? Had someone died? "The injuries to your hands were severe. Had you managed to get them healed properly right away, they wouldn't have been nearly as bad. I've not finished with the healing, but what happens now depends very much on you. It'll take at least another month for your hands to heal completely." She bit the inside of her cheek lightly before continuing. "Because you kept using your hands, even bandaged, when they were still broken, the damage went deeper. There's very little room for error in this. If you reinjure _anything_ on your hands, the damage could be permanent."

"Just my thumbs or the entire hands?"

"The entire hands. The broken bones had already begun setting, but they weren't in the right place. I had to rebreak your bones to set them right. You can do simple things, so long as you do them slowly. You already put a huge risk grabbing me like you did, but it doesn't look like you injured yourself much farther."

Without his hands, Yuan couldn't fight. He wouldn't be able to pick up a book or write; wouldn't be able to even do something as simple as farming or tending sheep. Without his hands, he'd be useless. A cripple. Everything Kratos had taught him, all that Kratos had risked everything for would have been for nothing.

"And if I do it your way?"

"Then, a month from now, you'll be writing again." There were no false promises in those hazel eyes. He took a deep breath—it would be frustrating, he knew, and he didn't deal very well with doing things slowly—before nodding and smiling at her.

She returned the smile, understanding, and helped him sit up to take a look at the remnants of lashes on his back. Her fingers traced the raw scars lightly, occasionally letting a trickle of mana heal something.

"Where's Mithos?"

"When he saw what the humans had done to you, he got angry. And anger has no place in a healing room." A Healer's sternness was in her voice and Yuan smiled faintly. He'd missed this so much.

"And now?"

"He still gets angry when he sees the damage. I told him if he can't calm down, he can wait outside or do something productive."

"And that counts as…"

Martel tilted a smile at him. "The people we've been staying with—Tilwin and his wife—are good people. Tilwin saw the kind of trouble Mithos was having with keeping a hold on his temper and gave him an ax and told him that there was wood to be chopped outside."

Yuan laughed at that, but regretted it. His ribs were apparently still a bit tender from the beatings. It was a distant memory, but he remembered some of the old men in his village telling Zaren the same thing when his tempers had run hot. "I think it's a half-elven remedy."

"It works."

Her hands probed his ribs, the soft warmth of mana seeping in and healing the damage. He eyed her as she did. "When was the last time you slept? Or ate?"

Her eyes flashed. "Don't start."

"You're no good to anyone else if you don't take care of yourself." He was employing a trick that Alstan and Myra used often with their particularly hardheaded students and, by the frustrated noise she made, she'd heard it before.

"I'll eat once I'm done with you," she promised, but she didn't sound happy about it.

"Agreed."

* * *

 

Kratos woke two days later and the first thing he saw was Yuan, whose eyes were on something happening outside the window.

"Where're we?" Kratos asked drowsily.

Yuan whipped around and a wide smile threatened to split his face. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to wake up. And we're in Izlion."

"City that Viren wanted us to go to?" His voice didn't sound nearly as bad as Yuan's had when he'd first woken, but Martel had taken to pressing a cloth damp with water to the seal of Kratos' lips and, if she could, tilting some water or broth into his mouth.

"Mm."

Kratos felt something nudging the side of his hip and he tilted his head to get a better look. "Noishe…" The protozoan chirped and rubbed his feathery head against Kratos' hip again. "How long's it been?"

"Seven months and some change. It's October."

"October…we missed our birthdays." Kratos was very careful not to think about why. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to lie here, enjoying the warmth that seeped in through the windows and walls, listening to familiar sounds.

"You would remember that. Martel went to find food, though I suppose you'll need food too."

Kratos' eyes, which had begun to drift shut, snapped open. "Martel's here? Her and Mithos're alright?"

"Yeah. They're fine."

Kratos let out a long breath of relief and felt no inclination to move at all. The door creaked open and Kratos couldn't get a good angle to see who it was.

"You're awake." Martel's voice was a wash of cool water after their trek through dry, war-torn country. "How do you feel?"

"All things considered, not terrible."

Martel chuckled and set down a bowl of what smelled like broth and a loaf of bread before sitting by Kratos side. He felt the bed shift in strange points as Noishe moved off the bed so that Martel could work, but the protozoan only moved over to Yuan's bed.

"Good. Though, you are _slightly_ sedated. The injuries to your back were pretty bad."

"We tried to heal 'em," Kratos said in their defense.

"Yes, but Yuan's healing skills leave much to be desired. You didn't do too bad a job though. Yuan told me about his back." About the lashings, but not about why. He hadn't told her any specifics, not that she expected him to, but she couldn't stop her eyes from straying to the numbers on his forearm.

_(Yuan sees her looking, and he has to work not to flinch. She's not doing it out of malice or mistrust, but he feels branded—is branded—although as what, he doesn't yet know)_

Her hands lightly pressed and prodded his back and sometimes Kratos hissed at a wound that wasn't quite closed, but Martel seemed to be satisfied with the pace of his healing. Her hands were very warm.

"Don't fall asleep just yet." Martel's voice sounded amused and gently scolding. "Try and get some broth and bread to stay down first."

She helped him sit up—slowly, very slowly and Kratos dared not make very many big movements for fear of wrenching his back—and asked him if he thought he could feed himself. At first, he thought it a strange question, but then he remembered that the muscles in the back were connected to almost every other muscle in the body somehow.

"Do you think I can?" Kratos asked. She was the Healer, after all and she knew better than he did the condition of his back.

"The damage isn't so bad anymore that it should be giving you difficulties, but if you don't want to risk it…"

Yuan felt a thread of envy that Kratos could actually take risks with his injuries whereas he still couldn't do much with his hands. Kratos seemed to think about it before saying, "I'll try on my own first."

Martel nodded at the bowl of broth and bread that sat on the small table between the two beds. "Then you can take that one. I'll go get some more."

Kratos moved gingerly, inch by inch, waiting for his back to twist in a sudden sharp pain because he made a wrong move. He imagined that this must be what being an old man felt like. Kratos glanced up at Yuan after he'd managed to make it to sit by the edge of the bed.

"You're not hungry?" he asked, surprised. Yuan could ignore hunger as well as any of them could, but, when given the option of food, he never turned it down. _(He can't not notice the hollows still in Yuan's cheeks, the slightly sunken eyes, the lean feel of him. Right now, he reminds Kratos very much of the first time they met, when he was still so small and skinny.)_

Yuan held up his bandaged hands in demonstration. "'M not supposed to really be using them, Martel says. The damage was pretty bad."

Kratos remembered the glint of moonlight on the blood, the sickening angle his thumbs had been at and bile rose in his throat. He pushed those thoughts forcefully out of his mind. "Do you want some?" It had become a habit for him now whenever he had food; he wouldn't eat all of it, either saving or sharing half.

Yuan's stomach answered for him with a grumbling growl and Kratos managed a smile. "Can you stand?"

Yuan had very few difficulties moving; his back had not been so badly hurt as Kratos' had. His issue was that, once he was up, there were very few things he could do without his hands. He maneuvered himself up and out of the bed to sit down beside Kratos.

Kratos' face flinched involuntarily as he lifted his arms, but Yuan trusted him to be smart enough to know his limits. He had to force himself not make big movements to rip the bread into even portions, dipping one end in the broth and holding it up for Yuan to take a bite.

"Can't wait 'til we're well enough for real food," Yuan said after swallowing. "I want _meat_ or something…substantial. Eating this day after day makes it feel about as edible as a table leg."

Kratos chuckled as he took a bite of his own half. The food felt like a gift from heaven. There was a thumping of feet in the hall before someone ran into the room, nearly slipping on the wood.

"You woke up." Mithos stared at Kratos like he was waiting for him to keen over. He'd looked at Yuan much the same way when he'd found out that he'd regained consciousness.

_(For a moment, Kratos doesn't see Mithos; he sees the hard, starved children of the ranch, little more than skeletons sheathed in skin. He doesn't see the healthy glow of the blonde hair, the sun-browned skin, only the pale, bruised and bleeding skin of the prisoners and the dark, haunted looks in their eyes)_

Mithos saw that momentary lack of recognition and his eyes narrowed at Kratos. There was something new in Mithos, something harder that hadn't been there when they'd seen each other last and some cavity deep in Kratos echoed and panged with a terrible sadness because the more Mithos hardened, the more the war took away from his childhood, his brightness, the way he could really change things because it was impossible _not_ to see Mithos Yggdrassill and the more he changed because of the same rage that Kratos had felt in the pit of his stomach _(It scares him, it really does because it isn't an emotion he's good with. He's not really good with emotions at all. He's good with people—or so Yuan says. Kratos doesn't really believe him because he isn't really comfortable with anyone outside of their patchwork family. He prefers words on the page, familiar and easy—not emotions)_ the rage would burn eventually burn up everything in Mithos and he would fade into the hatred, the dreams would become nightmares and nothing could ever become right.

"They hurt you," Mithos said flatly and Kratos knew he wasn't speaking of physically.

He'd never lied to Mithos though and he thought that it would be rather pointless to try now. "….Yes."

Kratos-and-Yuan watched the rage—one that ran bone-deep and was as much of this generation as war-eyes and sorrowful smiles—flash across Mithos' eyes, like thunder across a cloudy sky, and they watched him fight it down because Martel had told him what anger did in a healing room.

"…Did you get them?" Mithos asked. "The bastards who did that to you."

Kratos and Yuan exchanged a look. Technically, they had. They must have killed several dozens of soldiers sent after them. Whether they'd been the specific guards that had tortured and starved them was another matter.

They replied simultaneously. "Sort of."

Distantly, Yuan remembered the teachings at the temple. Not very well, but one seemed to swim up out of his memories: Revenge belongs to the Spirits. Yuan found himself disagreeing; Revenge belonged to whoever had the strength to take it. It wasn't a good thing—Yuan could picture the resulting cycle of revenge and anger—but it was realistic.

Mithos' lips quirked a little in a suggestion of a grin. "Well, that's good enough, I suppose."

They all laughed and perhaps it was a bit desperate, a bit on the hysterical side because the relief was too much just then, the thought of the world outside this little second-story room more than a little daunting.

* * *

 

It had been a week and Yuan was now allowed to at least hold things. He had to carefully flex and stretch his hands to avoid any stiffening of joints. His other injuries were very nearly healed, though sometimes, he would take a wrong step and pain would flare from someplace that he'd forgotten wasn't entirely healed.

Kratos was in somewhat worse shape. He was constantly careful of every movement and, after making it down the stairs for the first time two days ago, hadn't wanted to try the experience of going up them any time soon, so he'd been sleeping on blankets and a pillow in the living room. His back was half-healed, but the sunburns—beginning to turn violently rusty red before they'd passed out—were gone and there were odd, still reddish, pebbled scars along the backs of his legs and shoulders from the tree.

Tilwin and his wife Amaranda were good people and had accepted Kratos into their home without so much as a suspicious look. Yuan questioned them about that once.

"He was in the ranch with you, wasn't he?" Tilwin asked.

"Yeah…"

"No human that's not on our side is gonna get taken to a ranch."

"And the Lady vouched for 'im," Amaranda added. "And we trust her word."

They were having a breakfast of oatmeal when a knock banged on the front door. In an instinctive flinch, Yuan and Kratos went for the weapons they kept on their persons now. Both instantly regretted it as their respective injuries roared in agony. Martel was by their side in an instant and Mithos was tensed, watching the door, a hand on a knife he'd taken to carrying.

Tilwin opened the door warily and cursed as two people pushed past him the next instant.

Arms were around Yuan and the mana rose automatically in response _(They'd come from behind, a small army and everyone else's gone. He calls for Kratos, but he's already returned to the village and all he can do now is fight back)_ before he realized that Noishe, curled up in the sunlight slanting through a window, hadn't reacted and Noishe would never let them get hurt.

After Yuan relaxed, he recognized the strong arms around him, the click of white beads and the voice asking him if he was alright.

"Zaren?" He didn't quite believe the person in front of him, around him, but if he tilted his head a little more, he could see their left forearm and, yes, it was Zaren. To the humans, prisoner C-2654884.

Zaren pulled back and studied him, eyes narrow and jaw tight with residual anger. "Martel wrote us, said you'd disappeared." His eyes flicked down to Yuan's arm and Yuan self-consciously shifted so that the numbers weren't visible. _(Zaren catches the motion and wants to tell his little brother that he shouldn't be ashamed of it, shouldn't feel like he's any less because monsters had inked numbers on his arm, but he doesn't know how to tell him that, is still having trouble communicating with his brother)_ "When she sent a message with Noishe the other day…"

"We couldn't stay back near the capital," Viren finished. He looked older, stressed and life-tired with dark smudges beneath his eyes and there were a few new lines on his face that shouldn't have been there.

"The warfront—" Kratos-and-Yuan began, but they were cut off by Viren.

"Alstan and Myra were ready to come themselves, but we managed to convince them not to. They can lead while we're gone." Viren looked between them in concern. "How are the two of you?"

Viren knew better than to ask if they were alright. The answer was no, but they wouldn't tell him that. They were too thin and their experiences were written in their eyes, if not on their faces.

They exchanged glances before looking back at the others. "We're fine," they said together.

Viren wanted to call them on it; he still had his own nightmarish memories of the ranch that haunted his sleeping hours _(He still sees the small, dank cells, the press of wounded, unwashed bodies because there wasn't enough room for them all. Can still feel Zaren beside him, feeling too small and too terrified. He can feel the individual bones of his arm, his hand, his ribs. And the_ kids _…Spirits, those small kids who looked more like little scarecrows, most with pieces missing…)_ but he knew better than that. To make them remember those sorts of things by reminding them of what had happened would only hurt them.

He could see that Zaren didn't believe them any more than he did, but Zaren had never been as diplomatic as he was. Viren gave him a sharp look; the boys—they were men, Viren knew. Age-wise and experience-wise. But he still felt so very old compared to them—wouldn't appreciate any pity.

* * *

 

Kratos looked up when he heard someone coming down the stairs. Somehow, it didn't surprise him that Zaren was the one to come downstairs.

"Couldn't sleep either?" Kratos asked in a loud whisper. In a building full of sleeping half-elves, he had to be careful to keep his voice at a good volume so as not to wake them since their hearing was much keener than his.

Zaren jumped a little, apparently not having expected someone to be down here. "No." He didn't elaborate on the why, but Kratos hadn't expected him to. He and Zaren weren't exactly on good terms, but neither were they on bad ones. "I thought you would be sleeping upstairs with the others."

Kratos shook his head. "I don't wanna risk it. My back," he added when Zaren frowned a little at him.

Zaren sat across from him on the floor. "…Your people…did they know who and what you were?"

Kratos nodded. "Yes." He paused a moment before adding, "…My father did most of this to me."

Zaren's hand clenched and unclenched in a sudden spasm of anger. Viren had shared with him Kratos' father's position in the human army. "…Why?"

Kratos didn't look at Zaren then. He didn't know why he suddenly felt like talking about this, but he knew he couldn't talk to Yuan, not when the nightmares still had him screaming himself awake at night. "…I taught your brother to read and write, I helped him escape. I went with him and I'm fighting on the 'wrong side'. To my father, I'm nothing more than a blood traitor and therefore, not any better than a half-elf in his eyes."

"You dishonored your family," Zaren said slowly.

"Yes."

Zaren studied him. "You don't regret it, do ya?"

"No. The people I used to call my family…I've seen what they do to people. It's…terrible. I-I can't call them family when I know they do that and I can't just sit back and do nothing."

Zaren nodded in understanding, rotating his left arm slightly so that he could better see the numbers inked there. "The humans think us no better than animals and don't treat us any different. When our village was attacked," Zaren went quiet for a moment and Kratos waited patiently for him to continue. He knew how difficult it could be to sort through painful memories. "…I saw people who I'd known my entire life change in a second. People who had been so kind and quiet became…angry and vicious. I saw mothers who, who killed their own children rather than have them taken to be slaves or to work at the ranches."

Kratos closed his eyes, swallowing hard. Yuan had never spoken to him about the day he was snatched from his village. Perhaps he really didn't remember, but Kratos had never imagined, or wanted to imagine, how terrible it had been.

"They ripped our lives from us. I can't ever forgive them for that." He reminded Kratos of Yuan then because Yuan had told him much the same thing once. Zaren hesitated. "Do you ever feel afraid? Of your people, I mean."

Kratos blinked at him. "Of course I do." Somewhere along the line, admitting fear had become something effortless. Dealing with the fear, however, was an entirely different issue. "It's not something to be ashamed of," he told him.

"I'm not afraid for me," Zaren said sharply. "I-I'm afraid for my wife. And my son."

Kratos tilted his head curiously. "You have a family?" Was that why he couldn't sleep tonight? Because thoughts of his family wouldn't leave?

"Yes."

"How old is your son?"

Zaren smiled fondly. "Three summers now. I haven't seen him for many months though."

"Where do they live?"

"There's a small village near Gnome's Temple in the north. They live there to stay away from the war."

Kratos smiled at him. "I'm sure that when the war's over, your family'll be happy to see you."

Zaren considered the human in front of him. It was strange; he wasn't very familiar with him and their relationship had been tenuous at best. But he'd risked his life more than once for his brother and for hundreds of half-elves he hadn't even known. "You may just be the most honorable human I've ever met."

Kratos snorted a laugh. "From you, that means almost nothing."

Zaren inclined his head in agreement. "One of the most honorable people I've ever met then."

And, coming from him, that meant a lot.

* * *

_"Good things don't happen when people put aside their differences, but when they embrace them."_   
_-Anonymous_


	58. Recovering

_The patriot's blood is the seed of Freedom's tree._   
_~Thomas Campbell_

* * *

The boys had changed. Or rather, had been changed, because changing for one's own self and having someone else force the mold to shift and become something else were two very different things, and each had left their own singular marks.

They'd most certainly been changed. Their eyes were a little more hollow, the set of their jaws a little harder, lips drawn a little thinner. Alstan looked for signs of worse things—and there were indeed worse things than beatings and whippings and starving—and was relieved to find no signs of breaking. It was a close thing though, and they were still patching themselves up, but all in all, there were worse things. They were quieter, smiles not as quick to appear on their lips. And when those smiles did appear, they had bitter undertones.

They'd come out alive, but not whole.

"I don't think they're fit for active duty yet," Myra said, leaning against Alstan's desk. Viren and Zaren were beside her, not saying anything.

Alstan folded his fingers in a steeple. "No, neither do I. But trying to keep them off the battlefield when they feel they can help…"

"It's impossible," Viren and Zaren chorused. Viren continued, "They'll listen to Martel though. If she tells them, as their Healer, that they can't go, they won't. They're not going to be happy about it, but they'll listen."

"You don't think she'd become too sentimental?" Alstan asked. He didn't think so, but he wanted to know Viren's opinion. After all, Viren was the one actually in charge of the army. He and Myra were more like advisors who went out into the field only if needed.

Viren shook his head, not even needing to think about it. As much as Martel loved Kratos and Yuan, she would never let their safety be compromised for their wishes if there was anything she could do to stop it. "She's very professional. Doesn't allow personal things to get in the way of patients. Should I tell her to tell them not to go out?"

Zaren pressed his lips together in a line. "I think they should still be able ta do something. Elsewise they're likely to raise a small hell while they're stuck here."

Myra snorted. "That's probably putting it lightly. Those two shouldn't ever be allowed to get bored."

"…We could put them on guard duty," Alstan suggested. "It's better than nothing."

"That slows down the plan that Mithos had—which works, by the way. Summon Spirits are very real and are a real threat on a battlefield—to make pacts with the Summon Spirits for more strength against the humans."

"How so?"

"You know as well as I do that Kratos and Yuan won't let Mithos go without them. He's their little brother," Viren said it like it was an accepted fact, Alstan noted. Most half-elves spoke that way when referring to family-that-wasn't-actually-family. They didn't even have to think about it. Half the time, he and Zaren referred to each other as brothers anyway and he'd heard Zaren relate stories of his son and how much he missed his Uncle Viren. Alstan personally found it a bit strange, but then, he was raised among elves. They weren't nearly as warm a people.

"He can get more instruction from me in swordsmanship then," Myra said. "He's got a lot of talent, but he's focused mostly on magework so far which would be fine if he didn't insist on being out on the front lines half the time."

Alstan hid a smile; Myra would never admit that she'd grown to care for the boy—and his family, self-adopted or not—though she would fight like a hellcat for them, Alstan knew. He'd seen her do it before, for him in fact.

"In that case," Viren said, studying the map spread out on Alstan's desk. "We should draw back some of our forces a little here. Make sure to keep the lines tight. We only pushed that far because we thought we'd have all of them fighting. We can't afford to overstretch ourselves."

"We could lose the advantage there if we fall back," Myra pointed out. "We've made a significant dent in their forces."

"Which means they won't be itching for a fight on that front," Viren told her. "They'll take the time to recover and try to find a way to gain back their ground. This isn't a permanent arrangement; just until Kratos and Yuan get back on their feet."

"Let's hope it's sooner rather than later," said Zaren. "I still think we should press this advantage for all we've got. Elsewise, the humans'll know that something's wrong and that we ain't as strong as we were."

"I'd rather not push our luck this time," Viren said.

Zaren put his hands up in innocence. "You're the boss. I was saying as a suggestion."

"How are the boys?" Alstan asked. "You saw them before coming here, didn't you?"

"Aye. They were…they're tired. And I don't think they quite believe they're out yet. Someone shut a door a little too hard yesterday and they jumped like they were waiting for…something." Viren could imagine what, exactly, they'd been waiting for, but those words didn't need to be said aloud.

"Think they'll get better?"

Viren didn't hesitate. "I have no doubt."

* * *

 

He hadn't gotten used to them yet. The numbers. Every time he saw them, he wondered what was on his arm, what it was doing there. And then he realized what it was and something inside him would shrivel and twist.

He welcomed the mid-November weather. The air had bypassed crisp and gone to chilly on a warm day and downright icy in the middle of the night, frost coating the rooftops and slicking the streets in the early morning. He was grateful for the excuse to wear long sleeves so that he didn't have to look at the tattoo, didn't have to think about it.

Kratos caught him looking at it more than once _(They're fervently grateful for the shared room, grateful for the fact that they know the other is safe in this room and, should they need reassurance, they need only wake up and look at the other bed)_. He never commented—what could he say?—but he would pass Yuan a long sleeve shirt without comment and wonder how exactly his best friend would fare during summer.

* * *

 

"Guard duty?" Kratos-and-Yuan repeated.

If Alstan were a less observant man, he would say that the boys looked much more recovered. But the dark circles beneath their eyes hadn't faded and Yuan's hand was twitching almost constantly, as if needing to _do_ something. Kratos wasn't standing as straight as he used to with the training of a childhood under the military always stiffening his spine despite his lack of courage. His back—the lacerations, the welts, the bruises, the deep, infected scrapes—wasn't fully healed yet. It was enough to go about his life, but not enough to be healthy.

_(Alstan hears rumors of what happened at the ranch. He knows that General Aurion had been there; the general often went there. Had Kratos seen him?)_

"Yes. You two aren't fit for active duty," Alstan told them, not that they didn't know. "Unless you'd rather go back to doing…whatever you've been doing since you arrived."

Yuan and Kratos glanced at each other. It would have been nice to be able to say that they slept their days away to catch up on all the rest they missed at the ranch, but that would've been a lie. The nightmares still came, although perhaps a little less violently now. Some nights, though, they still woke screaming, clawing at the sheets. That much time on their hands had led to wandering the streets of the capital or a lot of time helping Martel at her clinic—a small, square building that was squashed in between a stairwell and an aqueduct that had been abandoned before she'd decided it go to good use.

"What shift?" they asked.

"How's the dusk shift sound for you? It ends at full dark, starts at five in the afternoon."

They agreed almost immediately. Anything to get away from the terrible stillness that was life.

 _(Sometimes, Yuan feels the urge to be out on the battlefield. Not to protect. To fight, to not have to hold anything back. And—in a very distant part of his mind that he refuses to acknowledge—to know that he isn't the helpless kid, the powerless prisoner anymore. The magic sparks in his blood and sometimes, he just wants to watch something crumble, wants to_ make _it crumble. He isn't programmed for inactivity anymore. It scares him because this isn't him. He doesn't want to be this person…)_

"You start tonight." Alstan paused, looking at them. He couldn't seem to stop doing that these days. They were battered and busted, but not broken. It was a close thing and Alstan was afraid that they were on the verge of losing the boys he remembered, the bright, bonfires-in-the-dark boys who'd defied everything the world had thrown at them. "Are you going to be alright with that?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't we be?" Kratos was good at pretending. He might not like it, but he was good.

_(Sometimes, Kratos will look at his hands and see redredblodred on them and he has to scrub at his hands. But the redredbloodred never goes away and it makes him afraid. Afraid that it'll never fade and he'll never have any kind of peace of mind)_

Alstan knew that to push any farther would be a breach of…something. Kratos-and-Yuan had a mercurial personal bubble. So he nodded and let them leave his office.

* * *

 

The guard duty helped. The sword on his hip was a familiar weight, one that he appreciated. Sometimes, the backs of his legs would twinge if he twisted wrong. Still, they were much less sensitive than his back.

Yuan liked the air on the walls around the city, liked how it was cleaner, how it was harder for him to smell the blood and rotting corpses from the battlefield up here. He had his own sword, though he didn't prefer it. The humans had taken his spear and he missed the heft of it, the way that moonlight would gleam on the blade.

It was as the sun was setting below the horizon that Yuan paused and looked at Kratos. They hadn't spoken much today, preferring the comfort of their own thoughts.

"I think that we're worrying Martel."

"We probably are." Kratos sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He'd cut it a bit after they'd returned, as well as shaved. Sandor Aurion might not have managed to get his beliefs instilled in his son, but he'd gotten military habits stuck rather well. Kratos hated the way that he couldn't seem to keep his facial hair neat. He'd tried it once, but it hadn't turned out well and since then, he'd stayed clean-shaven. "…Any ideas for making her feel better?"

Yuan shook his head, bracing his hands on the wall. His own hair might need a trim, he thought, as his bangs swayed in his face. "…You ever think it'll all go away?"

He didn't need to elaborate on what the 'it' was. Kratos knew. He always knew. "Dunno." He made a sound that might have been an attempt at a chuckle. "Every time we find an answer to a question, there's more questions. It's insane."

"Yeah, it is." Yuan looked over at his best friend; some of the hollows in his face were filling up, the skin a decently healthy color again. Sometimes, Yuan was afraid he would look and see the starved, tortured apparition of Kratos in front of him instead. "Know what I want, after all this is over?"

"What?"

"A rocking chair—"

The sound of Kratos laughter—not unkind—was a surprise because it was a surprise. "A rocking chair? Why, of all things?"

"You didn't let me finish. A rocking chair on a nice porch that belongs to a house I live in out in the country. Where I can look out and see…forever." The image was calming and, if Yuan tried, he could imagine Martel sitting beside him, or coming up the path. And, just maybe, there was a small kid there, with her sweetheart face and lovely eyes.

Kratos smiled. "I like that image."

"What about you? You got your own rocking chair?"

"Yeah…a room full of books." Yuan's lips quirked in a smile, the first he'd had in a while. "One with huge windows and comfortable couches with warm blankets and an iron stove for when winter comes."

"One day," Yuan told him. "We'll get that. You can get your iron stove and I'll get my rocking chair and we'll visit each other every day."

"Mm." The idea had warmth and it spread along Kratos' arms and seeped into somewhere in his torso, where it refused to leave. Or that might have been the setting sun, but the idea was still a good one.

* * *

 

"You know that we don't care, right?" Yuan looked from where he was sitting cross-legged at Martel, who winced. "That didn't come out right."

Yuan arched an eyebrow. "I hope not. I'd been under the impression you cared very much."

"I was talking about your arm. The number." Martel usually had a fairly good grasp of subtlety. Other times, she had the subtlety of a battering ram. Yuan would bet money that she got the latter from Kratos. "We don't care about it, or what it means. We love you."

Yuan wanted to believe her—indeed, he almost did—but while she healed his hands, and by extension the bones of his wrists, she'd seen how uncomfortable the number had made her. "Nice a thought as that is…I don't know why you're telling me so."

"I thought you needed to know. I know it bothers you and I don't want you to think that it changes our opinion of you. Because it doesn't."

Yuan set down the paperwork that Alstan had given him to do since Martel had given him leave to use his hands in small ways, like writing. He'd taken to doing them outside of Martel's clinic, in the sunshine. Every so often, Martel would come out of the open back door to collect herbs from her tough, scraggly garden or to get water from the pump.

"Where is this coming from?" he asked.

"I'm not blind. Even when we're inside, you cover up the tattoo."

"'S still cold inside," he argued.

The look on her face told him she wasn't buying it.

Yuan leaned forward, forearms on his thighs. "…I hate it. The tattoo. It-It doesn't belong there." Martel sat beside him, a silent, listening presence. "…Makes me feel dirty. I let them get to me."

"Dirty?"

Yuan shrugged, unable to explain it. "You know it's like that too. You've been acting different since…" Since they came back.

Martel reached out slowly to take his left arm _(He hasn't flinched from her yet, but she's seen him do it to other people. Even from Kratos, once or twice. But between them, those moments are easy fixes. Not so with other people)_ and pushed up his sleeve.

"It is different," she said, beginning to trace the numbers with barely-there fingers. "You can't say you haven't changed." She wasn't accusing, wasn't judgmental. Simply stating facts and Yuan appreciated it.

"…I have."

"Mm. I was trying to get used to you again. It isn't the tattoo that bothers me. It's what they did to you and what it represents. It's not 'dirty' and it's nothing you should be ashamed about."

"What, you think it's like some kinda…badge of honor or something?"

"That's romanticizing it." And, of the two of them, Yuan was the romantic. Martel was the dreamer and they're both practical enough to know that there was no place for either of those things in the world as it was. "It's…another scar, really."

"Something I have to live with?"

"Not the words I was looking for, but yes. I…get that it'll take some time, but I wanted to let you know that we don't think differently of you because of it or because of all that's happened. You've been pulling away from us, little bit by little bit."

"You gonna give this speech to Kratos too?"

"I figure you can pass it along. And besides, he's at least trying to be with us. He's just…not very good with people in the first place." Yuan snorted at that. She wasn't overstating it. "So it'll take a little longer for him."

Yuan wrapped an arm around her so that he could tug her gently closer. He brushed a kiss along the corner of her mouth. "Thank you," he murmured against her lips.

* * *

 

Kratos went to the smithy two weeks after they returned to the capital. It had taken another month in Izlion before Martel had dubbed them fit for travel and even then, it had taken nearly two months to get back to the capital undetected, hindered as they were by Kratos and Yuan's wounds.

The blacksmith looked up as he entered, dark eyes widening at the sight of him. "Thought you wouldn't be comin' back."

"So did I," Kratos said honestly. "…We did it. We made a pact with Efreet."

The blacksmith looked automatically to the small bronze emblem. "And? The war ain't changed none, has it?"

"It's great to see you too." Kratos walked somewhat gingerly through the smithy. His back was nearly healed, according to Martel, though he still had to be careful as the muscles were still reknitting themselves.

"Hellsfire! How did a monster get so deep into the city?"

Kratos turned his head so quickly he nearly gave himself whiplash. Noishe was standing outside the door to the smithy, large eyes blinking at the both of them. "He isn't a monster. His name's Noishe."

At his name, the protozoan pattered inside to stand beside Kratos, nipping gently at his neck.

"You know this beast?"

Kratos blinked at him. He still didn't quite understand what, exactly, everyone found so terrifying in Noishe. "Yeah. He's been with me since I was a kid."

The blacksmith flicked his eyes back and forth between them and Noishe just shifted, feathers fluffing a little. Kratos smoothed a hand down his neck _(Sometimes, in the ranch, he used to pretend he could feel these soft, downy feathers. It's like nothing else he's ever felt before and he can never mistake it for anything else.)_

When the blacksmith didn't say anything more—he'd already broken the record for the number of words spoken in Kratos' presence—Kratos returned to wandering through the smithy, pleased to find that it hadn't changed very much.

There was a sword in progress on one of his worktables. It was a hand-and-a-half sword from the length of it. One side of the blade arched and curved twice—near the base of the sword and just before the tip—and the other side was perfectly straight.

"That's a handsome sword," Kratos said. "Custom order?"

The blacksmith rose to his feet and covered the blade, as yet unsharpened, with a sheet. "Of a sort."

He wouldn't say more after that, working on armor for the soldiers. It was too much work for one of the few blacksmiths in town. There were too many soldiers, too many things that needed to be done, but couldn't because war drained people.

"Why don't you get an apprentice? It would make the workload easier."

"All the suitable ones've been sent to th' warfront," he grunted.

"There are still plenty of people in the city that could help you."

"Women 'n children who clutch to their skirts."

"The women could help you." The blacksmith arched a brow at the very idea, which made Kratos bristle a little. The women in the world had long since proven that they were just as strong, if not stronger than, the men participating in this war. "They're stronger than you seem to think they are."

The blacksmith narrowed his eyes at him. "…It's because you're young."

Kratos found his lips quirking into a smile despite himself. "Not because I'm human at all?"

"You don't act like any race I ever met before at all."

"Maybe that's proof that race doesn't matter," Kratos suggested.

"Prove that to th' world, boy, and you might have a chance o' being right. An' if you're just here t' talk, get out. I got a lot o' work ter do."

* * *

 

Kratos frowned when he got back to the shared room that evening. Yuan hadn't come to supper with them so they'd assumed he was sleeping, but the half-elf didn't look rested and he certainly wasn't still sleeping.

"What happened?" The look on Yuan's face told him something was wrong, but he couldn't imagine what. From what he'd heard this morning, Yuan had been planning to spend the day at Martel's clinic. It was a plan that was touched with bitterness, Kratos knew. As much as Yuan loved Martel—and that was quite a lot—he hated being stuck in one place because of inability and not because of choice. His hands weren't yet healed completely, so dealing with the world was still difficult at best.

"…I talked with Martel today. Or, the other way around, really."

"Uh-huh…" Kratos didn't understand why that was such a problem.

"She said she wanted to let me know that you guys don't care." Before Kratos could ask about what, Yuan tilted his left arm so that the numbers were visible.

"She's right. We don't."

"I know that. Or, I did, but I didn't know I knew it, if that makes any sense. But then I got to thinking—"

"Never a good thing."

A smile flashed across Yuan's face before it faded. He continued like the interruption hadn't happened. "And I noticed…you never cared."

Kratos blinked at him. "About the tattoo? Is there some reason I should?"

"See, that's it right there. I don't get it."

Kratos sat on his cot, crossing his legs. His legs protested a little, the scars stretching in ways they hadn't had to—the scars were faint things, but Martel told him that the damage had gone unchecked long enough that they had to stay.

"Get…what?"

"Why. You never even cared when you first saw them." Yuan remembered seeing Kratos across the hall, in between the bars. It had been dark, but enough of the abilities of his Exsphere had still been there that he'd been able to make out Kratos' face.

"I dunno why I never did. Makes sense that I should. I just…it's just another part of you now." Another part that had shifted everything in Yuan two inches to the left, so it would take a little getting used to, but it didn't seem strange at all to him. Yuan had his permanent slot in Kratos' life, firmly entrenched by his side, and Kratos could think of very, very little that could change that.

Yuan smiled at him; it was different from the one Kratos remembered. This one was sadder, a little more bitter around the edges, but still warm. He didn't say 'thank you' because they didn't do that. Thanks implied owing someone and they'd done too much for each other to every pay it back.

* * *

 

Kratos couldn't train just yet. Not with his back in this state. Sometimes, in the mornings, he would wake up and automatically go to stretch and his back would seize up on him. When he told Martel of this, she'd sat him down and gently rubbed a warm salve across his back, 'to relax his muscles' Martel said.

He had thought of finding an empty room to set up a classroom, to find a quiet space where he could teach the children of the capital their letters and numbers, like he'd taught Yuan once. He even walked through the capital with Noishe early one morning, long before the dawn's light touched the sky, searching for an appropriate room. He found one in a half-collapsed building, the actual room musty and damp, but there was enough room there and, since the building was closer to the outskirts of the city, there was room for an actual yard outside. The grass there now was yellowing and dying, the trees mostly bare, but Kratos could imagine it in the full wellness of summer.

Noishe padded across the dry grass, his steps making few sounds and leapt up into one of the trees, balanced easily on its branches. Kratos went into the building, stepping carefully around debris. He could see the classroom laid out before him, with slates and chalk at stools and chairs for the students to sit on—desks would be hard to come by for a while wood would be needed for the rebuilding efforts—and there would be books—of that, Kratos would make sure of—and the students would learn to interact with other students that they might not have known all their lives, with other kids who weren't of the same race or same beliefs and they wouldn't care because kids shouldn't have to care about such things. _(In truth, neither should adults, Kratos thinks, but he knows better than to ask that the adults of his generation and of those before to let go of their prejudices and their hatred so easily)_

But the more he thought about it, the more something that tasted distinctly of bile and cowardice uncurled in his stomach. How could he ever get any parents to trust him with their children? How could he ever get the children to understand that he wasn't there to hurt them? What if he failed them? Did he even know how to teach anymore, after so long spent in blood and battle and warlands? How had he and Yuan done it, so long ago? Kratos wasn't even sure how they'd gotten to this point sometimes; everything had snowballed, pushed off a cliff from some higher power. Things had been simpler then.

_(Looking at this place, at the ghosts of his dreams, Kratos decides that one day, when the war is over, he'll come and teach here. To anyone who wanted to learn. He would hang up his sword and hope that the memories of the battles fade away)_

* * *

 

Mithos was helping Martel with the room especially set aside for females when the woman was brought in. Another woman had her arms around thin, starved shoulders with a body to match. Those thin shoulders were hunched and her eyes—slanted, but not quite almond-shaped, damning her as a half-blood—were wild and wouldn't focus on any one thing.

"Lady," The other woman said. "The Theyurns found this one wanderin' abouts their farm. Thought you could help 'er."

Martel rushed forward to help carry the thin woman. Mithos caught sight of the numbers on her arm and rage—a familiar taste now, of rust and embers—roiled through him before he caught himself. Martel said that anger had no place in a healing room and he believed her. He saw what anger did to healing mana. The pale green and gold of it would twist and roil with redredred like blood and make it more difficult for the body to accept it.

The woman was rambling, couldn't answer any questions. Her eyes settled on Mithos and she nearly jumped off the stool that Martel had sat her down on. Mithos backed up, empty hands raised. He'd been around enough skittish and paranoid patients to know the procedure, but the woman wasn't calming down at all.

Martel flicked a glance back at him. "Mithos, out."

He didn't question her, slipping out the back door, nearly running into Kratos. The human blinked at him. "Everything alright?"

"Patient panicked when she saw me, so I had to leave. Best you not go in there either."

Kratos set the box of bandages that he'd collected and set them just outside the door. One of the few things that he and Yuan could do for long periods of time without overextending themselves was to make herbal bandages, something that Martel had come up with. It was easier and saved more supplies than constantly changing bandages simply to reapply herbs. Kratos and Yuan boiled the herbs and soaked the bandages in them, making sure they were well-saturated before taking them out to stiffen and dry. The herbs stayed within the cloth, which made it easier for healings.

"That bad?"

"Mm."

Neither had to say what they knew. Wartime brought out the very worst in people, particularly people who saw women as little more than objects.

"Nothing to do but wait, I suppose."

Kratos moved to sit down beside Mithos on the steps leading up to the hut. "Not really."

"…I've been thinking, when you and Yuan get better, we can make more pacts with Summon Spirits, right?"

"You really want to end this, don't you?" Kratos leaned his forearms on his thighs, pleased to find that it didn't hurt his back. He'd seen people who, when they moved wrong after a back full of lashings, they'd seize up and flail around like a demon had possessed them.

"I'm tired of seeing all this," Mithos said, waving an arm to indicate the area around them. "I'm tired of seeing Martel work herself to exhaustion, I'm tired of seeing friends of ours dying in those battlefields, I'm tired of being looked down upon and punished just because of my race. I'm just…I'm tired of it all. And I know that the more we fight with the humans, the less they'll listen to us. And vice-versa. There has to be another way."

Kratos reached out to ruffle Mithos' hair, but thought better of it halfway through the motion and just placed his hand on the top of the blonde head. "I believe you're right."

Mithos stared at him. "What?"

"That there's another way to end this war than just in violence. I believe you."

A smile beamed across Mithos' face, beautiful to behold. _(Martel says she believes him when he talks to her about it, but she's family. She's supposed to believe in him. Kratos is different and it matters, well, not more, but in a different way)_ "That means a lot, comin' from you."

"Nice to know I'm not wasting words."

Mithos chuckled a little. They sat there for long hours, long after the sun went down and the patients were once again asleep.

* * *

 

The woman called herself Elia, Martel learned. There was no last name.

"'S what m' husband called me," she said. The woman was bones sheathed in too loose skin. Her skin was nut brown like some of the elves Martel remembered that liked to visit Heimdall.

"You were married?" Martel asked as she prepared food for her. Something filling, but thin and with enough nutrients. Healers fixed more than physical wounds.

"Of a sort, yes." Elia had very grey eyes, like river stones. "He got sold though. And my girls…they took m' girls…"

Martel listened as Elia continued to mutter to herself, gently spooning her the thin soup. The things she said were horrible, would give Martel trouble sleeping for weeks. Stories of how two humans, brothers, had kept her locked away in the ground until they needed her. Stories of how her children, hardly a few weeks old, two were crawling already, one was old enough to recognize her as Mam, were ripped from her arms and stuffed in chains, forced to march to their new homes. Some had simply disappeared while she worked in the fields. The master's sons had beat her. Had broken her hip once. It had never been right again.

_(Martel sees the damage. The hip had healed badly long ago. There was no fixing it now, even with magic. It makes Elia limp badly and Martel makes a mental note to find a walking stick for her)_

Elia peers up at her with river stone eyes. "You married, girl?"

Martel shook her head. "No." _(She doesn't think about the first thing to come into her head at those words. Doesn't think about how it would be like to be married to Yuan. Never boring, she would imagine, with sweet and spicy places with bitterness scattered here and there in between)_

"There's a boy though, ain't there?"

"Isn't," Martel found herself correcting automatically. When she heard herself, she smiled. Kratos-and-Yuan had rubbed off on her. "And yes, there is."

"They ain't good for nothing. They get sold and leave you pregnant and alone."

"Elia…we're free. We're not slaves here. No one's getting sold." The words felt powerful in her mouth, like she should be declaring them from a mountaintop and Martel felt the sudden urge to do just that.

_(That night, curled beside Yuan, she'll say it over and over. Yuan will smile and repeat it before kissing her because sometimes, people just need reassurance)_

* * *

 

Yuan woke to hands shaking him. They were too slender to be Kratos' and too big to be Mithos'. "Martel, what-?"

She looked pale in the darkness, her staff in hand. The expression on her face was enough to make him fully alert. "It's Mithos. He said he was going for a walk this afternoon. And no one's seen him."

_(The images flash in her head of her little brother's arm inked with those numbers, those horrible numbers. Of her little brother being starved and beaten and dehumanized and it makes rage mix with the fear in her stomach, a combination that's unfamiliar and uncomfortable.)_

Yuan sat up. "Kratos, wake up," he called, trying to keep his voice steady. Martel was worried enough without his own concern stacking on hers. The human was up instantly, hand going for the knife he'd taken to keeping beneath his pillow, looking around for a threat. Findind none, he looekd at Yuan curiously. "Mithos is missing."

He saw the set of Kratos' jaw and the way his eyes steeled as he got stood, going for the sword he kept at his bedside. "Then let's find him."


	59. Places

_The mildest, drowsiest sister has been known to turn tiger if her sibling is in trouble._   
_-Clara Ortega_

* * *

They searched for nearly two days, splitting up to search the countryside. Mithos was the only one missing, so it was doubtful he was in a ranch _(But the_ _thought still niggles Martel's mind, nightmares flashing before her eyes)_. They listened for Noishe's whistle since he was searching from the skies, and with every wind that whipped its way through the steadily growing rockier terrain, they would look up, but it was never what they hoped for.

Kratos' back ached and he had to stop to rest too often. Yuan would stop with him, of course, not saying anything, but Kratos could feel the nervous energy coming from him like wings humming in the air.

Martel refused to stop and Kratos wished he could have that kind of stamina right now. She wouldn't go too far ahead of them, the Healer in her making sure she didn't leave behind her patients _(They've tried to insist that they're fine, that she can go on without them, but Martel always disagrees)_ Right now, they could see her, standing on a mossy boulder, balanced on the balls of her feet like she would take off running any moment.

"He didn't say anything to you, did he?" Yuan had asked this before and Kratos had answered him the same way—"He didn't tell me a thing."—but Yuan wanted to believe that he'd simple missed a detail somewhere that would remind him that he knew where Mithos was.

Martel walked back to them. "I think I found something." Immediately, the both of them look up at her, knowing that any truth would be written on her face. "There's something that looks like a tunnel less than a mile out."

"You think Mithos would've gone in there?" Yuan personally didn't think so, not unless there had been trouble and they would've seen the remains of trouble scattered across the field. Mithos was elven in his personality, preferring trees and open skies to caves.

"It's somewhere we haven't looked yet."

Kratos got to his feet, a little slowly. "Let's look then."

The tunnel was actually a path, deeply and smoothly carved into the cliff-face. They followed it warily, keeping their eyes on the high cliffs in case of an ambush. The path branched off, winding upwards, too steep to seem real in some places, and there were some paths that led to smaller tunnels, mining equipment apparent.

"Are the lot of ye lost?"

Martel, Kratos and Yuan whirled to look at the speaker. He was stout and short, hardly tall enough to reach Yuan's waist, but he had an impressive, full beard that was neatly braided. Small, dark eyes peered out from above a rather large, flat nose and a long hammer was slung over one shoulder. Dwarves were a rare race to be seen aboveground; they drew back from the world just as much as the elves had, if in a different way.

Martel—brave, stubborn, steel-spined Martel—took two steps forward. "We're looking for someone."

The beady eyes studied her before sliding over to Kratos and Yuan. "An elf boy?"

"Half-elf, but yes." It was easy to make that mistake with Mithos. He looked like an elf, save for the shape of the ears. Particularly now that he was growing. His face was maturing out a bit, baby fat leaving high cheekbones in sharp relief, the long angles of his face almost skirting the line towards feminine. Elves were a tall race and Mithos had clearly inherited some of that; he was slowly creeping up to reach Kratos and Yuan's shoulders, his limbs lengthening with their smooth sheaths of skin. He wasn't graceful by any means, not yet accustomed to the longer legs. "Did he come through here?"

"Aye, he did. Wanted to go the temple."

"Temple?" the three of them repeated, confused.

"Haven't you heard? Gnome's Temple is down here."

"Gnome? Like the Summon Spirit?" Martel wanted clarification.

The dwarf nodded. "Don't ask me why though. Far as I could tell, it isn't worship day, but I don't pretend to understand elven traditions."

"Did he leave here?"

"Ain't seen him since he went down yesterday."

"Which way to the temple?" Yuan asked, feeling the urgency creep back into his body.

"And why should I help ye? That kid's probably not alive any more—'s dangerous down here. Lots of accidents. You'd be wastin' your time."

"It's our time to waste, isn't it?" Martel challenged, her grip tightening on her staff.

"…Yer a stubborn one, aren't you?" The dwarf sighed and hopped down the cliff side, nimble as a mountain goat. "I'll lead ye to 'im, elsewise yer likely to wander 'round this place till you rot."

"Thank you."

The dwarf led them through paths that were far too linear to be natural and yet, at points, they arced, bridging various tunnels together. _(They do not realize it now, will not understand what they are seeing until much later, but this is the remnant of one of the great cities of old, from a time when dwarves and elves worked together, for dwarves don't work in sinuous curves and elves don't work in such geometric patterns)_

They were taken down a contraption of the dwarves—an elevator, they called it. Yuan asked how it worked and the dwarf explained that it was a combination of pulleys and metal rope. They'd designed it to go straight down into the mines rather than having to dig a tunnel to get in.

Kratos felt more than a little claustrophobic down here. There was no sense of how far down they were, though the dwarf told them that when they felt pressure on their ears, to hold their noses closed and breathe out harshly. It would relieve the pressure. But there was no sky, no fields, no mountains in the distance. It was an entirely different world down here. No plants, no seashore, no animals other than worms, bats and the occasional mole.

Noishe, he thought, would go crazy down here and he was grateful he'd thought to tell the bird to keep searching aboveground for Mithos, just in case.

Martel stumbled and slid a bit on loose stones and Kratos reached out to grab her reflexively, his muscles moving without his say-so and his back ached sharply. Muscles not having been used for something like this in so long protesting as he steadied her. Her sharp Healer's eyes assessed him, but he waved her away. It was nothing he couldn't handle.

* * *

The place that the dwarf led them to was a wide cave, with strong pillars and perfectly symmetrical stairways creating a second tier of space. There were a few fire pits long put out and several wooden stools thrown across the room. Scorch marks blazed up the walls and painted several boulders black with ash. In the center of this cave was an altar the color of olives with steps leading up to it. Curled at the bottom of the altar was Mithos.

Martel dashed forward, hands lightly brushing over him to check for wounds with need to make sure he was alright. He was battered and heavily bruised, scrapes and small cuts along his arms. Martel was willing to bet that there was a broken rib or two, but she couldn't find out just yet. One hand was clenched tightly, as though unwilling to let something go.

Familiar blue eyes cracked open before shuttering closed. "Martel?"

A weight heaved itself off her shoulders. She brushed some of his hair, dirty and tangled, out of his face. "How do you feel?"

"Like I just got stampeded."

Yuan squatted beside Martel. "Shit, Mithos, the hell were you thinking?"

Martel shushed him. "We can question him later. Right now, he needs healing."

Kratos and Yuan both backed off, neither feeling particularly calm about finding Mithos in this condition and therefore not good to be around a healing. _(In truth, Mithos is in better condition than they'd imagined. There are no numbers inked on his arm, no lashes across his back and no iron collar or shackles wrapped around his neck and ankles and for now, that is enough)_

* * *

Martel wouldn't go far from Mithos, insisting that she stayed nearby as he healed. Yuan barely managed to convince her to come outside of the healing hut to breathe for a bit and share some rations.

She sat on the steps, leaning her head in one hand, not eating. "Why would he do that? Go fight Gnome without…without saying anything? Without asking anyone for help?"

"He probably didn't ask us because Kratos and I are still recovering." Martel had estimated another week, two tops, before Kratos was in full form and Yuan was still a bit cautious about using his hands, but Martel had told him that he could do everything but magic right now as magic would mess with the mana still working to heal him.

"Why didn't he ask me to go with him? I can fight, I-I could have helped him."

Yuan took a seat beside her. His head ached and he wanted sleep, but he would stay awake for now. "Mithos is never going to do anything that can put you in danger. He loves you too much to run that risk."

She lifted her head and there was fire in those eyes again. "I can't accept that. I'm the one who's supposed to do the protecting, not him. I don't _need_ that much protection; you guys may not like it or even think about it, but I can take care of myself."

His smile was weary and only half there. Yuan hadn't slept in nearly three days and despite the Exsphere, he looked like he was running himself ragged. "I never said otherwise."

"You try and protect me though. Don't think I don't notice." There was an attempt at fire in those words, but it fell short. They were all too tired for this; the world was tired and perhaps there was no rest. Not for the wicked, or for the virtuous, not for anyone.

"Call it instinct."

* * *

Kratos stayed in the healing room with Mithos, partially because he was still healing and partially so that when Mithos woke up—it wasn't an 'if' statement. Martel was becoming one of the best Healers that Myra had ever taught—he would at least wake up to someone he knew.

Kratos rolled the small stone in his hand. Mithos had been holding it and it had taken quite a bit of work to get him to let it go. It was very red, but not quite warm and it was rather rough in strange places. He wanted to show it to the mages, but he would wait for the story from Mithos first, although he could guess how the kid had ended up with it. After all, Efreet had dropped—or become? None of them were very clear on exactly how the stone got there—a precious stone when Mithos had made a pact with him. They'd taken it to the mages to ask what it was and they'd told him that it was a garnet. Kratos remembered Yuan teasing Mithos a bit for calling it a ruby and what kind of scholar could he hope to be if he couldn't even tell the difference?

And Mithos had gone to fight Gnome on his own. Myra and Alstan would probably murder him for that alone, but the fact that he hadn't told anyone where he was going? They'd likely bring him back from the dead just to murder him all over again.

_(Kratos thinks that Mithos has courage in mountains, more courage than he has ever had, because he knows that he would never have been able to try and do something like that on his own. It's something he admires about him and he won't say that he isn't a little envious of it)_

"…she's angry, isn't she?"

He hadn't noticed when Mithos stirred. "A bit." It had been a reality-warping scene, to see Martel angry. She got upset and she got flashes of temper, but nothing like this. And though he knew it was fueled by worry and relief both, he still had trouble believing it. "She's calmed down."

Mithos flinched a little. "I did it though. I made a pact with Gnome." It had been something done on the fly, something that he hadn't known how to handle. With Efreet, at least Arin had been there to teach him the customs and the spells. But with Gnome, no one had been there. The dwarves were the ones that lived in that area now, for the most part. Some half-elves still lived within the tunnels and mines, but they were a precious few. Mithos had ended up taking what he remembered from Efreet and changing some of the words to suit Gnome.

"And you got yourself a spot on Death's doorstep for your trouble," Kratos told him. "…Why'd you do it?"

"You think I don't hear Viren and Zaren talking? Or that I can't see what's going on? We have an advantage with the mountains because we live here, we have the high ground. But it's not enough against them. They have…all their technology, their soldiers are actually fed properly. We're not. Most of our soldiers can't even use magic." Myra and Alstan had been working to remedy that, but it was a slow process. "We needed something defensive. Efreet's power is…incredible, but it only hurts them. It doesn't help us. With Gnome's help, we can actually build walls again, have defenses and still be able to attack back."

"You're not wrong," Kratos said slowly as he mulled it all over in his mind. "But you still should've mentioned to someone where you were going. We thought—"

"That I'd been taken." It was a nightmare Mithos had had more than once and he couldn't blame them for thinking it. "I know."

"How do you feel?"

"Still hurts. Bed rest?"

"Yup." Mithos groaned and Kratos laughed in sympathy. Bed rest was torturously boring.

Martel came in then in full Healer mode _(Kratos thinks that she's afraid she'll fall apart if she lets herself be just a sister right now because Mithos isn't her only patient and there had been a bombing while they were out looking for him)_ and before she could start to fuss—over the both of them because Kratos' back muscles were apparently too stiff and he'd done something to them when he'd gone to catch her—he slipped out the door.

* * *

Martel stood in the center of the room and looked between the four people there for some clue as to why they'd called here when she still had dozens of patients from the bombing that had bandages that needed changing, burns to disinfect, broken bones to—

Myra's voice breaks her out of her thoughts. "Martel, this is General Lyrion. He's come to help us."

The person she gestured to was an older half-elf, grey streaks in hair the color of moss. His eyes were bright, elf-blue, like the skies they'd come from. He seemed surprised when she offered a hand for him to shake and even more surprised at her grip. Or perhaps it was the fact that her hands weren't soft, were calloused from weapons and needles and holding people together when their bodies were falling apart in front of her.

"Pleasure to meet you, General." Martel saw Viren behind Lyrion, leaning against the wall. In comparison, Viren looked so much younger than the other general with his pale, red-tinted hair with the beaded bones dangling and the lack of lines on his face. Viren didn't look very happy either; that wasn't surprising. Martel had heard rumors of Viren's reputation among the other generals.

"Likewise, my lady."

There was a dim annoyance at the words—everyone insisted on calling her that, so she'd been getting used to it, but the way the general said it, it was almost degrading. "Not to sound rude, but why am I here?"

Alstan exchanged a look with Myra and Viren's lips thinned, his jaw tightening, but he stayed silent, crossing his muscular arms and somehow looking smaller for the gesture. The general was the one who said it.

"I understand you have a younger brother, lady?"

Martel frowned a little, not understanding where this was going. "Yes. What about him?"

"I've been told he went missing a few days ago."

Something like an ice wind made the hairs on the back of Martel's neck stand on end. Her instincts were telling her not to trust this man. "Yes. We found him in Gnome's Temple."

"And you weren't given leave to go look for him, were you?"

Martel caught the way that Viren's hands clenched tight on his arms. "Leave?" She repeated.

"Permission."

"Permission? To go look for my kid brother who could've been on his way to a ranch or to some rich noble's house to work in the fields? You're saying I should've waited for _permission_?"

"The military stands because of rules and regulations—"

"And since when do those things come before family?" Martel demanded, her temper rising.

The general ignored her. "Technically, the boy should count as a deserter—"

"A deserter?" Martel wasn't the only one saying it. Alstan did as well.

"He left without leave as well."

"And why don't I count as a deserter? Because apparently I did exactly the same thing."

"Because people knew of your whereabouts, of your intentions. No one knew anything of the boy."

"He has a name, it's Mithos and so sorry that he was trying to help stop this damned war from going on longer than necessary!" It felt good to raise her voice. Since Mithos had gone missing, she'd been wrung out, emotion-wise, because all she'd seen since then was limbs that had been blown off, horrible burns that oozed and spread, hollow, hollow eyes, dying children and adults and her only brother lying in on a cot bruised and broken.

The general's eyes narrowed at her, but Martel stood her ground. "You think a deserter was doing good for this army?"

"I think he's trying to make a difference since we've been fighting this same war for generations and no one's gotten anywhere!"

"A difference?"

"She's not wrong, Lyrion." Martel felt that the absence of a title attached to the name was deliberate on Viren's part. "Mithos made a pact with Efreet about five months back. We've lost a lot fewer troops since then. With Gnome's power, imagine how the war can change."

Lyrion's eyes went to Viren and Martel had a feeling she wasn't the only one who felt degraded. "Efreet is the guardian Spirit of your homeland, isn't he? Not surprising that you put them up to this."

"He didn't," Martel said. "It was our idea."

Alstan finally stood up. "They've done more good for this war than we have." Lyrion turned to him. "They've changed things and it's for the better. I think it's a good idea, what they're doing."

"The issue still stands though," Myra pointed out quietly. "That Martel, Kratos and Yuan put one person ahead of the good of the army. That's where the problem comes in. We needed the three of you here, particularly you, Martel. As a Healer, your place is here."

 _(The words echo years, almost a decade, back and Martel remembers looking up at the elves—graceful and tall and beautiful—and hearing their teachings of society and a lady's place and, later, the much more malevolent whisperings of the fact that there_ was _no place in society for half-elves and really, Martel is rather tired of people telling her where they think she fits. She fits with her strange, patchwork family, right beside Mithos and Yuan and Kratos)_

"As a sister, my place is with my brother," she corrected. "And, if you'll excuse me, that's where I should be right now." Martel turned on her heel and walked out of the room.

* * *

 _"...And these children that you spit on as they try to change their worlds,_  
are immune to your consultations, they're quite aware of what they're going through..."  
-David Bowie-Changes


	60. A Decision

_Always bear in mind that your own resolution to succeed is more important than any other thing._   
_-Abraham Lincoln_

* * *

"And why does he want to see me?" Kratos asked Viren, keeping easy stride with him.

"Martel opposed him. He's not used to that and he doesn't like it. He thinks that the Yggdrasills are dangerous to our cause and he knows you're close with them. At best, he just wants to talk and get a measure of you."

"And at worst?"

Viren didn't answer. Worst case scenario—he was there to arrest Kratos on grounds that Lyrion believed were true. But Viren wouldn't let that happen. Kratos was good for this army, for this country. For the world, even. He'd seen that. He'd seen Kratos set aside all those differences to help people. And even more impressively, he'd seen others in his army set aside all prejudices and mistrust and welcome Kratos into their lives, trusting him to protect their families.

"Viren?"

"At worst, they'll try to arrest you." Kratos was a person that appreciated honesty and didn't flinch from the truth, however terrible it might be. Viren could only give him the same courtesy.

Kratos caught the operative word. "Try?"

Viren glanced over at him, a hard edge in his eyes. "I won't let them. You've done nothing to deserve it."

Kratos smiled. "Glad to know I have your support."

"You have a lot more than just me. You've made an impact here, Kratos, even if you might not be able to tell. But I saw this city and these soldiers before you and Yuan, Mithos and Martel got here and—those weren't people I would have been proud to be fighting for. I did, but I wasn't…I wasn't _happy_ doing it. But the people now, they're…they have kindness again, have empathy. They have a vision of something better." Viren hesitated before continuing. "…I want this city to become the kind of place where anyone can come for refuge, where people don't need to be afraid all the time because of their birth. And I think it can really become that."

Ridicule had fallen on Viren for his dreams before. He'd been told it was impossible and he expected to be told that again because Kratos was a strange kind of practical.

But Kratos surprised him—he was good at that—and said, "That sounds…pretty wonderful, actually. I like that."

"You do?"

All Viren got was a confused look. "Of course. People shouldn't be living in fear. They should be able to hope and plan for a future, and not feel trapped where they are."

_(Viren thinks for the first time in years that this can work, that with people who believe like this, that everything can work out)_

* * *

"So you're the human."

Kratos stiffened at the tone more than the words. He'd gotten used to people calling him by his race out in the field and the city _(But things have been slowly changing. People use his name, call him over to share news and gossip, their daughters giggle and he is reminded of a desert with a girl who tasted of stale rainwater and spices)_ but even they didn't use the term the way Lyrion did.

"Yessir."

Lyrion's eyes narrowed at him, took in the posture, the words, the stance. "…You're born-and-bred military, ain't you?"

Kratos had to bite his tongue a little to stop himself from correcting the grammar. "Yessir."

"So why are you here?" Lyrion leaned back in his chair, fingers folded, eyes glittering. "Why ain't you with your people?"

"I am with my people," Kratos said bluntly. "I was born human and raised as one, but my brother is a half-elf and so is all my family."

"Is that so? Because there's a warrant out in the human lands." Lyrion held up a wanted poster. Kratos' face was roughly sketched there, hair and beard wild as they had been at the ranch. "Says you're General Aurion's boy."

"He is my father."

"How do I know you're not a spy?"

Temper flashed across Kratos' face before he turned and shrugged his shirt over his shoulders. Scars—marks that had been fresh wounds not a few months ago if not for Martel's skill—spanned across. Some were little more than white chalk lines and would fade with time. Others were more raw, raised and still red or dark. There were lashes from a whip and other, rougher areas where something else had torn up the skin.

Kratos tugged his shirt back down and looked back to Lyrion. "Because a father doesn't do that to a son. I'm disowned and a blemish on the family name, or so I imagine the word is. I don't care."

"And why is that?"

"Because my father has done…terrible things. Things that no one should ever do to another person. He's enslaved, tortured and killed so many people. It needs to stop and I'm going to make that happen any way I can."

Lyrion was quiet as he thought it over. "…You are friends with the woman named Martel? And her brother, Mithos?"

"Yes."

"Are you aware that Mithos is a deserter?"

"He didn't _desert_ anything. He went looking for something to help us and he found it. He's helping us get this war under control. It needs to stop. People are losing everything because they hope that there will be peace, but it won't happen if we keep fighting like this."

"Your idealism has no place in this army, boy. And Mithos is dangerous. Summoners are cursed."

"Mithos is the only reason you have any chance of succeeding. Or do you want more people to die for your war? A war I don't even think you remember why you're fighting."

Lyrion stared at him, tight-lipped. When he'd asked Viren what Kratos was like, he'd been told that the man was quiet, but honest and stubborn. Viren had said nothing about passionate or protective.

"Why do you fight?"

"Because until there's a way for people to see this war is ripping the world apart, there are innocent people out there who need someone to fight for them. And you, sir? Why are you fighting?"

"Because it's my duty."

Kratos' eyes narrowed at him. _(They are unsettling eyes, Lyrion thinks. Eyes that a human shouldn't have, eyes too old for the face)_ "You're military too, aren't you? You were raised with it."

The man was observant too, and intelligent. "Yes, I was. My father was a lieutenant."

"You were raised to obey orders and never question them."

"You seem not to have taken those lessons to heart."

"Some orders need to be questioned."

Lyrion stood and he and Kratos were of a height. "I will not have you questioning this army. It leads to dissension and everything will fall apart. We need to show the humans a united front."

Kratos' eyes hardened. "With all due respect, sir, I don't agree. By your leave."

He didn't salute, but something about the snap to his footsteps felt like a mocking version of one.

* * *

Yuan listened while Kratos told him all that had happened. After he was finished, Yuan was quiet for another moment before he gave his best friend a sidelong look and grinned real slow. "I've raised such a rebel."

That made Kratos laugh, a sound that, since they came back from the ranch, had been scarcer and Yuan had missed it.

The laughter was gone too soon though.

"…I don't understand it, Yuan."

"What?"

"Lyrion said his father was lieutenant." Yuan caught the parallel without Kratos having to elaborate. "I don't understand how we could turn out so different. He must've seen what his father did in the war, how the war affects people."

"Well…if you want my, ah, professional opinion and speaking as a third party observer with no interest in the matter," Kratos gave him a look and it nearly made Yuan forget the rest of his sentence. "I think it's because of me. No, seriously."

Kratos smiled at him. "Well, I'm lucky then."

"To have me? Of course you are," Yuan said, cocky and Kratos shoved him playfully, making Yuan catch himself on the end of the bench, his laughter echoing off the streets.

* * *

"He's going to be keeping a close eye on the lot of you," Viren said. "The only ones that might be able to get away with doing anything without his knowledge is you." He looked at Yuan meaningfully.

"Not even," Zaren pointed out. "Myra agrees with Lyrion, up to a point. If he asks who's associated with you lot, she'll tell him."

"So, if none of us can move freely," Mithos said, having been only listening until now. His ribs were still feeling rather tender, but Martel had healed him up rather nicely. "What's gonna happen with the Summon Spirits? There's still a lot more that could help us."

"I don't know," Viren answered honestly. "Lyrion's got seniority over me and none of the other generals like me enough to vouch for me if I try to circumvent his orders."

"And what are his orders, exactly?" Kratos asked.

"Currently? They're to not let the four of you outside of the city. Well, unless there's a massive need for you on the battlefield. Which is basically just Martel." Because there was a shortage of Healers. 

"There's more," Zaren told them. "I've heard rumors amongst his people. He doesn't trust Mithos; wants him out of the army." Cries of shock echoed across the room. "He'll say he has grounds too. Mithos was too young to enter the military when he got here."

Yuan stood up, mana sparking up and down his arms instinctively. "Bullshit! If that's the case, then you shouldn't have been able to enlist either! You were too young too!"

Zaren snorted. "Go ahead and tell him that. He'll probably kick me out too just to prove his point."

"Then what the hell _can_ we do?"

"Legally? Noth—"

"I don't know about the half-elven army, but in the human military, the only way to do it would be to court-martial him," Kratos suggested quietly. All eyes turned to him and everyone was acutely aware of his military background in that instance.

Viren nodded slowly. "Yes, we do that in this military too."

"It shouldn't cause any problems for us—it's legal. Even better," His mouth quirked into a smile touched with mischief. "It follows all the rules."

Yuan stared at him for a moment before laughing. "Kratos, you're a genius!"

"And how exactly do you plan to get that to happen?" Viren asked, folding his fingers into a steeple. "And what would you charge him with? Doing his job?"

"Well the man must've done _something_ wrong at one point. All we've got to do is dig it up."

Viren sighed. "You guys can try, but I don't think you'll be finding anythin' on him. And until you actually _find_ any evidence on 'im, keep your heads down. Don't give him an excuse to come after you." He gave Kratos and Yuan a pointed look. They'd already managed to get under and around one military institution and they'd been little more than kids at the time. No need to let them do it again.

Yuan smiled angelically. "Would we ever do such a thing?"

"In a heartbeat."

Kratos shrugged, not denying it. "We'll do our best."

"Right. I'll bet you will." Viren stood, bracing his hands on the table. "Oh, that goes for you too, Martel. Kratos. And much as I enjoyed seeing you give him a piece of your mind," His lips twisted into a smile at Martel. She and Kratos were of a kind. "Try not to do it again before he discharges all of us."

"No promises," Martel told him.

"Of course not. I'll see if I can't convince him to let you guys go make pacts with the Summon Spirits, but it's gonna be a hard sell. I don't think Lyrion believes they actually exist."

"I can make him believe it," Mithos said. He kept the precious gems that the Spirits had dropped on his person at all times, in a pouch he kept knotted tightly round his waist. "Seeing is believing, right?"

"Somehow, I don't think frying him alive is going to make him like us any more."

"The offer still stands. Just saying."

"Let's call that a last resort."

* * *

Confined to the city, Mithos sparred with Yuan more often and occasionally Kratos, if he felt up to it. Kratos would stop him mid-movement and correct a stance or adjust his hold on the sword.

"You have to stay grounded," Kratos told him. "Gnome's power flows from the earth into you that way."

Teaching him how to parry was difficult without his full strength and speed. But Kratos showed him the movement slowly and would gently shift his arm into better positions. Mithos' quick mind and talent for learning proved itself true; he only had to show him once or twice before Mithos was doing it easily. But his body wasn't quite strong enough to endure holding a heavy sword for very long, so that was the part that needed the most work.

The way Yuan fought with his spear made Mithos think differently on methods of attack and how to block. To Kratos, these things were second nature—after all, he had learned to fight against a spear just as well as a sword—and so he found it strange that Mithos found it a bit difficult. And Yuan was faster than Kratos and while Mithos was fast enough to avoid the hits, he wasn't quite fast enough to strike back.

After another two weeks, Martel was gently prodding and testing the muscles of Kratos' back. They jumped occasionally under her fingers, but Kratos didn't show any signs of pain. The scars were fainter now, most little more than chalk lines that wouldn't open up again.

"You're healed," she told him. "There's a little more to be done, but your body can do that on its own."

"That's good to hear," he said. "I've been feeling kind of useless."

Martel laughed a little. "I think it's a guy thing. You don't feel useful unless you're doing something physical."

"Well, when things need to get done…"

"You mean things like the war?"

He flashed a look at her. "I don't want to fight any more than you do. But until we can come up with another solution, we need to be able to fight back."

As she got to her feet to wash out the bowl of poultices, Martel said, "That meeting with Lyrion…something about it bothered you."

"I—I don't want to abandon the humans. Because they can't be all bad just like not all half-elves are good. It's not that cut and dry. And…I don't know. I feel like I shouldn't give up on them."

There was a fond tilt of a smile on Martel's lips. "You're not good at that. Giving up on people, I mean."

"Do you think I'm crazy? For thinking that things can change? War can' t be all there is." _(He remembers things. Things in his books about the way the world is when there is no war. He remembers thinking how very alien it all seemed)_

"No, I don't think you're crazy. Well," she tilted a crooked smile at him. "Not for that reason. But…we don't have any way to connect with the humans. The half-elves might be changing their mind on them—thanks to you—"She saw him about to open his mouth and kept talking, not giving him a chance to object. "But the humans still think of us as monsters, as less than the scum beneath their boots. And it's going to be hard to convince them otherwise."

"Hm." Kratos stood up suddenly. "I need a map."

Martel blinked at him. "Okay…I have one, but somehow I think it's not the kind you're looking for."

"I need a map of the temple locations."

"Have fun in the library. Just share whatever…epiphany…you're getting tonight over dinner."

* * *

But Kratos didn't show up for dinner. Or breakfast.

Yuan wasn't surprised about dinner. Martel had mentioned Kratos doing research and, in his experience, Kratos could get very easily sucked into his books. But breakfast was another matter. Maybe he'd fallen asleep on his books.

Yuan climbed the stairs to the mages' library and listened for any sign of Kratos. The library wasn't a large room, but the maze of double-stacked bookshelves and tables and the scroll-lined cubbies in the walls made for it to be bigger than it looked. But however big the room, it was usually a very silent one and in that silence, Yuan's Exsphere-enchanced hearing could pick up the sound of Kratos' breathing.

He followed the sound, weaving his way through until he found Kratos in a corner that must have been sunlit yesterday afternoon. Books were strewn on the table, open on specific pages and Kratos had indeed fallen asleep, head pillowed on his arm and pen still in hand.

Yuan sat beside Kratos and flicked his ear.

Kratos jolted awake, the cheek he'd been laying on red and ink stains on his fingers and around his eyes, likely from when he rubbed them as he tired. He blinked at Yuan. "Is it dinnertime already?"

Yuan just smirked and leaned his cheek into his palm. "Forget dinner; you missed breakfast. But have no fear. I come bearing gifts." He held up his other hand—a few pieces of toast wrapped in a napkin.

"You're a lifesaver." Kratos took the toast, munching on it hungrily.

Yuan tilted his head curiously, though at this angle, it was difficult to read what was going on. "So. What's all _this_ about?" he asked, gesturing at the table in general.

"I was talking with Martel when she made a point. The humans don't have any insight into half-elves' lives, their culture. All they're taught is that you guys are half-bloods, that they're supposed to be better than you because of that, that you're put on this earth to be slaves for them because you're essentially savages living without civilization."

"Uh-huh…"

"What if we showed them different? _Made_ them see that things aren't the way they think they are? Humans don't want to war any more than half-elves do. Most of them are tired of it. Their taxes are higher, their families are out there dying…there's no upside."

"How do you expect to show them, Kratos? Most of them don't even _see_ us."

"Exactly. But what if they had to see us? Had to speak with us?"

"And how do you expect to make that happen?"

"What if we became ambassadors of peace?"

Yuan stared at him. "Kratos, you're insane. I'm serious. Ambassadors? We'd be killed in the streets. There's already a bounty on your head."

"It's why we don't announce ourselves. If we can get to the king, we can take care of ourselves from there."

"Yes, and if the king decides we're not worth listening to and he sends his guards or whoever to kill us? We could fight them off, but even if we come out alive, all the humans are going to hear is that a group of half-elves snuck into the palace and slaughtered a bunch of men."

Kratos hesitated. "I don't know how we're going to do it, but I think we should at least _try_. And if somehow we can convince the higher-ups to let us become the peace ambassadors, we could also go to the temples. The pacts with the Summon Spirits could still be made. Look," he tugged a map closer and Yuan leaned in to see better. "Sylph's temple is well within half-elven territory, but the humans have taken over the temple that houses Luna and Aska. And Undine's island is on technically neutral territory. Celsius is definitely within human lands now, out in their north. Volt…I hear very few things about Volt, but his temple is supposedly here," Kratos pointed to a strait of land on the border. "He'll be easy to get to, I imagine, if we can avoid the storms. Shadow…"

"Shadow's easy. He's here," Yuan brushed Kratos' hand aside and tapped a location. "In the mountain fortress of the monks. And Ratatosk is with the Great Tree, of course and Origin…Origin is in the elven lands. There's no way we can go in there."

"And where's the Great Tree?"

Now, Yuan was the one to hesitate. "I'm not sure. I've heard about it, but there's no specific location ever given for it. I know it's in the lands of Kharlan, but those lands span a large amount of area. The Tree could be anywhere in it."

"That's neutral territory too, isn't it?"

"Well yeah. I mean, only because no one's been able to conquer it. Not even the elves. There's a lot of monsters in those parts, I hear. Ratatosk's fault, mostly."

Kratos frowned at that. He'd never heard very much about the Spirit of the Tree—even the half-elves didn't know much. "How so?"

Yuan shrugged. "He's supposed to be Lord of Monsters too. He's Origin's right hand. That's more or less all I know about him."

"There aren't any legends about him?"

"Not in my village. You could ask around though. He's mostly an elven Spirit, since the Tree came with them from Derris-Kharlan."

"Aren't the Spirits supposed to be universal?"

Yuan snorted. "Try telling the elves that."

"And what, pray tell, is so bad about elves?"

Both Yuan and Kratos whipped their heads around to see Alstan bracing a hand on the backs of each of their chairs, eyebrows raised, waiting for an answer.

"Old man!"

"You boys are planning something." He knew them too well to think otherwise. They'd changed since the human military academy, but not that much. "And, unless I miss my guess, it's something to get around General Lyrion."

"No, it—that's ridiculous," Yuan said, leaning back and trying for a convincing smile. Kratos just finished off his last piece of toast. "Why would we ever do something so disobedient?"

"Because it's in your blood. Now, what's the plan?"

Kratos and Yuan thought about it for a half a second before beginning to tell him.


	61. Chapter 61

_"When her pain is fresh and new, let her have it. Don't try to take it away. Forgive yourself for not having that power. Grief and pain are like joy and peace; they are not things we should try and snatch from each other. They're sacred. They are part of each other's journey. All we can do is offer relief from this fear: I am all alone. That's the one fear you can alleviate."_  
\--Glennon Doyle Melton (Carry on Warrior: Thoughts on Life Unharmed)  


* * *

The news came in the early morning.

"On your feet! We got refugees!"

It was automatic to scramble to their feet. Since Lyrion's orders to not allow them outside the city walls were still in effect, the four of them had been helping the city in whatever ways they could. Rebuilding homes and helping Martel in the clinic. Delivering food and helping the farmers out with the planting.

"Where're these guys from?" Yuan asked as he belted on a sword. None of them went anywhere unarmed anymore and perhaps that wouldn't help much with terrified refugees, but they were doing it anyway.

Myra looked back at them, her steps sharp and precise. "The humans got over the North-East Pass."

"What? But, the frost?"

"Melted. Spring's nearly done up there. Go down there and help those people. Afterwards, the four of you find me. I have something to discuss."

"Yes ma'am."

The refugees were blood-splattered and burned, exhausted and still half-terrified. Kratos and Mithos took care of the children; they were trusted easier by them. Some of the children looked at Kratos fearfully, drawing behind some of the older ones, but Mithos assured them, with his sweet smile and quiet voice, that Kratos was safe, that he was here to help them. The boys were more mistrustful, but the girls warily drew closer.

Mithos and Kratos cleaned and bandaged them up, finding a few loaves of hard bread around to share with them. One of the girls was very much attached to Kratos and was refusing to let go of his hand.

He knelt so he could see her face. She had very big green eyes, slanted and she had an elf's high cheekbones, but a human's broad brows. "I can't find papa."

"I'll help you look for him. What's your name?"

"Mariya."

"Mariya? That's a pretty name. C'mon, let's go see if we can't find him." Her hands were tiny and Kratos half-feared they would break if he squeezed too hard.

He wandered with her through the camp and, after a bit, hoisted her onto his shoulders so that she could see better and so she wouldn't get lost in the chaos. Tents had been put up, but there were still a lot of people roaming and not all of them were safe.

"I don't see 'im," she said, leaning down to speak in his ear. Her hair was a mixture of brown and blonde that, if the fire or witchlight hit it at a good angle, made it shine.

"I know one more place we can look."

Martel glanced up as he came in, right in the middle of healing a bad gash in someone's arm. "Kratos? Is everything okay?"

He heard the question she was really asking. "Mithos is fine, he's with the kids. I was hoping you'd seen Mariya's dad around here."

Martel looked up at Mariya. "Do you know your papa's name?"

"Ryonis."

Kratos saw the news in Martel's eyes before she said anything. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but there hasn't been anyone by that name here."

Kratos felt Mariya stiffen, could feel the tears coming. He jostled her gently to get her attention. "Maybe he hasn't gotten here yet. He could be on his way and he'll be saying to everyone he meets 'I'm looking for my daughter, the prettiest girl in the world. Have you seen her?'"

"You think so?" Kratos heard the watery smile.

"Absolutely." He looked at Martel for help. She held up her arms to Mariya.

"C'mon. You can rest here for the night and we'll see if we can't find your papa in the morning."

Mariya clung tighter to Kratos. "Why can't I stay with you?"

Kratos could feel some of the patients' eyes on him, could imagine their thoughts. The human with a half-elven child and the half-elven Healer. "Because…I have to go do something very important," Kratos lied. "A grown-up thing."

Mariya's nose wrinkled. "And I can't come, right? Papa used to say that too."

Kratos helped her down from his shoulders. "It's okay, I'll be back in the morning."

"Promise?"

He smiled at her. "Promise."

* * *

Yuan met them outside of Myra's office. He was looking dirty and a bit dusty, but he was smiling through the tiredness. "Hey," he greeted before he frowned. "Where's Martel?"

"She won't leave the clinic," Mithos sighed. "I tried to tell her to take a break."

"Which she won't. Stubborn woman."

Myra stalked up to them, all elven grace and tired ferocity. "Inside, boys. Now."

"What's happened?" Mithos asked as he obeyed. "You seem…upset."

She gave him a look. "Thank you for putting it so delicately. And I've just come from a meeting with Alstan and the generals."

"A meeting about what?"

"This attack was deliberate. It didn't benefit them much—or so their intelligence should have told them. That village was part of a major supply line to our troops."

Yuan felt ice slip down his spine as he started to put the pieces together. "Wait—so…how would the humans have found out? Unless…"

"Unless there's a traitor, yes."

"Do we have any suspects?"

" _We_ ," Myra gestured at the four of them. "Don't. Not a serious one. Lyrion, however—"

"Lemme guess. It's me," Mithos said.

"Or me," Kratos pointed out. "He wasn't very happy after our 'talk'. As a human, I would be the logical choice to leak information."

"He seems to think that the lot of you are suspects. Or at least accomplices."

"That's ridiculous!" Yuan said.

"I agree. He doesn't know you guys like the rest of us do, but we told him that it was absurd. You guys and Martel are some of the most loyal people in the army. But there is very likely a traitor among us."

"And how exactly do you plan to find him? Or her?"

"That's the part we don't know. Our army is too large and too unorganized to even begin to suspect much. It could even be a group of people."

"If it's a group, wouldn't it be more obvious?"

"Not necessarily. They could cover for each other."

The four of them looked up when the door opened. Viren and Zaren entered and bowed a little to Myra in an automatic show of respect. "Sorry we're late," Viren said. "It's chaos down there."

"Is that why you weren't at the meeting?"

"That's exactly why." Viren's eyes darted between Kratos, Mithos, Yuan and Myra. "What's happened?"

"I believe we have a traitor."

"And so does Lyrion, am I right?" Zaren said, sitting in one of the chairs across from her desk. "And he suspects them." A gesture towards the others.

"Which is utter horseshit," Viren said. "He's looking for enemies where there aren't any and he's going to miss the people who are actually out to get him."

"Then find a way to convince him otherwise. In the meantime, we have to search for the actual traitor."

"Or traitors," Yuan reminded her.

"Or traitors," she agreed.

"I can't help you," Zaren spoke up.

Myra stared him down and Yuan had to admire his brother for his courage. Myra's temper was legendary, even if when it snapped, it burned cold rather than hot. "And why is that, pray tell?"

"This attack was too close to the village where my family is. I can't leave them there when the humans are so close. I'm going to go and bring them here."

"And you think the capital is safer than their little village?"

"At least if they're here, I can protect them."

Yuan still found it difficult to think of his brother with a wife and child. _(In truth, much of the time, he has difficulties thinking of Zaren as his brother at all. Over time, Zaren had become much as Dehua and Kail had been, little more than a face and snatches of memories. Kratos is his real brother)_ "It's dangerous out there."

Zaren looked over at his little brother—the brother he hardly recognized much of the time. The little brother who was so brave now, so smart and strong and proud. _(He doesn't really know how to handle it, if he's being honest. He remembers Mama telling him to watch over his brother, to protect him and that's what he'd done. At least, he had until the humans attacked. He'd failed his little brother that day and he hasn't been able to do anything for him since. Yuan is grown up now and he doesn't know how to fit that into the picture of the gap-tooth smiling boy in his memories)_ "If I head out tonight, I can make it."

"Oh really? On what? Eagles' wings?" Myra asked, folding her arms across her stomach. "Because that's what you'll need to get there without getting killed by the humans."

"The humans ain't so far out yet, or so the scouts're telling us. I can make it before the humans spread out to conquer more territory."

Myra let out a long breath and looked at Viren, who shrugged. "It's his decision."

"Go then. Go and be done with you." Zaren bowed quickly to Myra before leaving the room. Myra looked at Viren. "You're not going with him?" Oftentimes, it felt like the two were attached at the hip.

Viren shook his head, beads clacking. "No. My place is here. And it's going to be difficult enough for him to reach the village by himself. With two people, it's near suicide."

"And with three?" Myra pointed out. "His son is, what, three years old? Less?"

"He's turning four in the spring."

"And his wife is…fragile."

Yuan was surprised to see temper flash across Viren's face. He'd never seen that temper directed at Myra. "She's stronger than you think she is."

"Maybe so. But she's not strong enough to survive being taken again. Are you absolutely sure he can get them back safely? Because if he can't…" She didn't need to finish off that sentence. Yuan saw the way the blood started draining from Viren's face.

"He won't let it happen."

"The humans won't give him a choice in the matter, boyo."

"We can't let him go alone," Yuan protested.

Viren gave him a sharp look. "You really think he'll let us go with him?"

"Not us, maybe, but you? Absolutely." _(Yuan thinks that he should be hurt by that fact, but in truth, he isn't. Perhaps blood isn't thicker than water and perhaps real family is what you make for yourself)_

Viren leaned his head back, raking stray hairs back. "…I'll talk to him. I don't think he'll listen, but I'll try."

* * *

"Don't even try to stop me."

Viren had hardly stepped into Zaren's quarters. "…I wasn't going to. I _was_ going to ask if you wanted me to come along. It'll be easier to protect them on the way back."

Zaren hesitated, before shaking his head even as he filled his pack with provisions. "No. Your place is here."

"You're my brother. If you need me—" He would what? Go with him? Abandon all his duties, abandon the entire city and its newest batch of refugees? All for one man? He couldn't deny that it was likely.

"I don't. I'll be fine."

Viren frowned. "Are you sure? Lauryl…she can only take so much. And the boy—well."

"I told you, I can handle it. And so can they."

There was a special brand of stubbornness in Zaren, Viren had learned. _(He wants to laugh the first time he sees it in Yuan because some things do run in the family)_

"…If you say so."

* * *

Mithos could hear the argument through the door. He hadn't come for this, had only come to ask Viren if he wanted to join them for supper, but he couldn't just leave now.

"You're too soft-hearted. Do you know what you're risking for this army?"

Viren's voice snapped back, "Yes, I do and I trust him. If he says he can do it without endangering the rest of us, then I believe him."

"You're a fool."

"It's his _family_ , Lyrion. You can't expect him to just leave them out there when the human army is that close to their borders."

"These are times of war. We can't afford sentimentality."

" _Sentimentality?_ Do you even hear yourself? The hell're we fighting for if it's not for keeping our families safe? Our homes? Or are you about to tell me that you went into this for the 'honor' of it all? Because lemme tell you, there's no honor in this. Honor can't be won through war because all it does is hurt people. We should be trying to find a way to _stop_ the fighting."

"…You've been listening to Alstan again. He told me of a plan hatched by those traitors to be peace ambassadors." Lyrion scoffed at the very idea.

Mithos found himself bursting in without thinking. "He's not wrong."

They both stared at him. "What?"

"Viren—you're not wrong. We can't just keep fighting. It'll never end."

Lyrion had seen this boy around, had heard the mages talk about him, about his unnatural skill and strength. Had seen him get into blazing arguments with Aurion and Yuan, arguments that would end, at some point, with either or both sides in laughter. Had seen him helping Martel in the clinic, good at following her orders and brightening up the children with his stories and his smiles.

But this boy was rebellious, didn't know when he should speak and when to stay silent. He was dangerous, too good at inspiring people. Too much like Aurion.

"Would you have us surrender?"

The boy—Mithos Yggdrasill, his mind supplied. The deserter, the prodigious mage—looked affronted by the very idea. He had a great deal of pride, elven pride, and a human's stubbornness, though whether the latter was learned from Aurion or inherited, was difficult to tell. "Of course not. But if we keep fighting, we'll go around in circles. It's what war does. Something sparked it and someone wanted revenge and when they got their vengeance, someone else wanted revenge on _them_ and _it'll never stop_. We have to take measures to try and stop this peacefully because the other way isn't working. It never worked or this war would've been over a long time ago."

"Any ambassadors we send will be slaughtered in the streets. The humans won't let them anywhere near. And the only human on our side is a wanted man."

"Not if you do it right," Mithos said slowly, struck by a sudden inspiration.

"How so?"

"Their king knows his people. Or he should. No one _wants_ war. All we have to do is be able to talk to their king."

"Mithos," Viren started. "I don't think you get it. That's next to impossible."

Mithos' eyes blazed. "If we keep thinking like that, it really will be!"

"Do you have a plan then?"

"How much is the price on Kratos' head?" Mithos asked Lyrion.

"I don't know, a good couple thousand gald, at the very least. The human army wants him badly."

"A couple thousand glad is enough that the humans can believe we'd turn him in for it," Mithos said. "Think about it—we fake being bounty hunters and bring him in."

"And how do you see the king?" Viren asked.

"…Do we know anything about how the humans' army works?"

"A bit. Mostly from what Kratos and Yuan have told us. And Alstan's information."

"The generals have to meet for the big strategies, right? All of them?" Viren and Lyrion nodded, not entirely sure of where Mithos was going with this. "And they're closing in on us, they know they are. We can't retreat out of this valley until the frost melts, which won't be for another few weeks at least. They're going to come for the capital and they're going to want to strategize beforehand and if they're going to strategize for something that important, the king'll be there too."

"So you want to pretend to take Kratos prisoner over to them and then what?" Lyrion asked. "They'd likely just toss him in the dungeon."

Viren tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the desk he was leaning on. "…Not necessarily. I don't know very much about Kratos' situation with his father, but I know that General Aurion believes his son is a serious problem and he'll probably want to deal with it personally and as quickly as possible."

"Therefore, they would take the lot of you up to the war room,"

"And we can speak our piece, at the very least," Mithos said.

"General Aurion is too ruthless," Lyrion disagreed. "He won't be willing to work for peace."

"Do you have a better suggestion?" Mithos demanded. "Because Viren's right—the more we go around in circles like this, the more people die for nothing."

"For nothing?" Lyrion repeated.

"Yes. We aren't fighting for a cause. Hell, we don't even know what we're fighting for. We didn't start this. Our parents and grandparents did and we're keeping it going because we don't know any different! That has to change. War is _not_ all there is. And I bet the humans understand that better than you do because they don't have decades to waste. They live, what, sixty years? _Maybe_? It's even less worth it for them."

"Why do you care about them?"

"The honest truth? I wish I couldn't. I wish I could believe that they were the monsters that I heard people say they were. But I've seen different. Read different. We can fight for our freedom from the humans' oppression of us all we like, but if we don't try to change it _here_ , in our remaining cities and villages and teach the kids better, then all that we've fought and died for will be for nothing. Those kids will still grow up learning what we keep thinking. It's not enough anymore. We have to change the way we think. We have to teach people to read and write and think for themselves. That way, there won't only be human and elven books to read. Or dwarven. We can share things with each other and with other races, we can communicate across borders. Hell, we can communicate with _ourselves_."

"And you think this'll work?" Lyrion said skeptically.

"…I do," Viren said suddenly. _(He is tired of not believing. He is tired of constantly fighting and not seeing an end. He wants to see the world that Mithos is describing, that he'd described to Kratos. He wants it badly enough and he is tired of simply dreaming)_

"It won't work. You'll get killed."

"It's worth trying, isn't it?"

Lyrion laced his fingers together. "…Who do you plan to act as bounty hunters? No one will believe that a child did it and we aren't risking a general on this."

Viren and Mithos glanced at each other. "…Yuan could do it, couldn't he?"

* * *

Kratos-and-Yuan shook their heads. "Too risky," Kratos said.

"General Aurion has seen my face before and, even worse, he has reason to remember my face now. He probably won't remember it, but it's likely he does," Yuan explained.

Mithos gave them a look. "Don't act like you wouldn't go, Yuan. With Kratos as the bait? We'd have to knock you unconscious to not have you come along."

"Oh, I'm coming along. But I can't be a bounty hunter. I'll tail you guys through the city."

"You?"

Scowling at the pointed look Viren was giving him, Yuan smoothed his loose bangs of blue hair back. "I can go in disguise."

"You got some kind of dye or a hood? 'Cause blue is hard to hide."

"Y'know what, let me worry about that. What about you, boyo?" Yuan asked Mithos. "Martel's not gonna let you go off by yourself. Not to human territory. And she's about as easy to blend into humans as I am."

Biting his lip a little, Mithos said, "I…haven't gotten around to telling her."

Yuan's eyes sharpened. "What, were you going to run off again?"

"No," Mithos snapped. "I was gonna tell her…later."

"Tell me what?"

Mithos winced a little and turned to look behind him. Martel didn't usually eat with them, working too hard with her patients. Often, Mithos or Yuan would volunteer to bring her food and sometimes Kratos would do it.

Martel had one hand braced on the back of Mithos' chair, the other propped on her hip. Her braid was beginning to come undone, with lots of loose strands and few tangles. There were the beginnings of dark circles beneath her eyes, Yuan noted. The hems of her threadbare dress were fraying and there was a hole by her collar. It was her only dress and she worked hard to keep it clean of stains from blood and worse.

"Well, Mithos?"

Seeing the look on Mithos' face, Kratos decided to step in. "We think he's found a way to get to the human king so that we can try for a peace treaty."

"To the human lands?" Martel took a seat at the corner of the square table in between Viren and Kratos. "I hope you weren't planning to go without me."

"It's too dangerous," Mithos started, but Martel cut him off with a sweet smile that had a poisonous edge. _(They are alike in that respect. Neither of them likes being told what to do. Particularly what they couldn't do)_

"I'm so glad you agree. So you won't be going either."

"Martel, someone has to go."

"Yes, they do," she agreed. "But not twelve year old boys."

"I'll be thirteen in three months' time!" Mithos protested.

"No good. You're not yet of age and you shouldn't be fighting in this war to begin with."

Shoving back his chair, Mithos stood. He was not quite tall enough yet to reach Martel's shoulder, but the tilt of his head was defiant. "But I _have_ been fighting in it, Martel! You can't just act like I haven't been a part of this."

Martel's eyes hardened. She wasn't a soft woman by anyone's standards, despite her compassion. "You're my brother and like it or not, I'll do what I have to to protect you."

Mithos opened his mouth, about to say something, but he bit it back and left the room in a rush of temper.

_(It terrifies her a little, this stubbornness and rebelliousness. Her little brother is growing up too fast, as war makes people grow up. She doesn't want him to grow up like this. She wants Mithos to play and laugh with other children, to enjoy life and not know the stench of blood and the cries of dying men. She wants a better life for him)_

Kratos glanced at Martel. "I'll talk to him."

* * *

Mithos could travel rather quickly when he wanted to. Kratos found him in a part of the city that still hadn't been rebuilt, the buildings blasted apart and the rubble in piles higher than Kratos' head. He was shooting fireballs at the rubble, scorching and melting the stone. Noishe was perched atop a precarious looking mass of debris, but the protozoan was perfectly balanced. The protozoan was ever watchful and mindful of its charges.

Kratos took a seat on some of the debris and waited until Mithos seemed to have run out his temper temporarily. Mithos pushed his hair out of his face as he turned to Kratos. "She send you after me?"

"No. I volunteered."

"I—I'm not mad at her."

"I know." Kratos paused, eyes on the ground. He hardly noticed the scorched smell of the air; it was something he'd gotten used to with explosions and magic on every battlefield. "…It's terrible, isn't it?"

Mithos blinked at him. "What?"

"Feeling helpless. Wanting to help, but not being able to. Not being _strong enough._ "

The half-elf rubbed his arm, unsure of what to do. "…I'm afraid for Martel."

Kratos frowned in concern. He'd noticed, over the couple of years he'd known Mithos, that the kid sometimes had something like premonitions when it came to Martel. "Is it because of something specific?"

Shaking his head, Mithos took a seat beside Kratos. "No. Just—I'm getting sick of being stuck in this city while others are out there fighting. I can _help_ and-and Martel is overworked. The other day, when I was helping her out there was—there was this woman, she'd gone to fight. Her husband and brothers had died in the war and she wanted to keep fighting, so she did, but…she came back and she was missing an arm and she looked…I won't lie, Kratos, she looked a little insane. Like, she was going crazy. She just kept talking about her brothers and husband, how she saw them and she kept talking to them—she actually thought I was one of them. I guess one of her brothers was younger than her—and she looked so small there and I just—"

"You…saw Martel," Kratos guessed.

Mithos looked up at him, blue eyes looking almost too big for his face. "I can't let that happen to her, Kratos. I can't."

"I know." _(He still sees the man he killed, still sees the half a face, the burns and exposed bone. Sometimes, he still sees Yuan in that ruin of a face, with only one of those blue eyes left, staring)_ "But she's seen kids your age in there too. You think she doesn't think the exact same thing? That she doesn't see your face in those kids? She'll do what she has to do to protect you because she loves you."

"I love her too, Kratos. She's my sister."

"I know. And, I think, that you two can't keep fighting each other on this. You gotta let her protect you if you wanna protect her."

"But this war needs to end, Kratos. And she's trying to stop me from going, which I can't just not do."

"Let her calm down—"

"Or let Yuan calm her down," Mithos interrupted.

A hum of agreement. "And then we can talk to her and see if we can't convince her."

"'We'?"

"We," Kratos affirmed.

* * *

"He's got a point, y'know," Yuan said, drawing absentmindedly in the dirt with the toe of his boot. "He's a part of it all, Martel. A key part. You can't just set that aside."

"Are you going to tell me it's for 'the greater good'?" she half-snarled, still wound up from the argument.

"Not in those words, but basically."

"I'm _tired_ of this, Yuan. I'm tired of seeing people—half-elves and humans and dwarves and elves—all dying everywhere. I'm tired of watching people suffer for something no one can remember. I'm tired of sacrificing everything." Martel looked at him, hazel eyes wide and a little desperate. "He's all I have _left_. Our parents are dead. We were exiled out of our home—people we had known for _years_ shouting these _things_ and throwing stones and spells—and we're asked to put our lives on the line for people who don't believe what we believe. And now you're asking me to willingly put my brother in the line of fire?"

Yuan rubbed her upper arms before gently drawing her into a hug, one she didn't quite accept, still riled. "…Yes. That's what I'm asking. And it's a lot. We're all being asked a lot of. But think about it. For a little more sacrifice—okay, a lot more, I won't lie to you—for more sacrifice, we can have this world that we dream about. A place where things like this don't have to happen. Not ever again."

She finally relented into the embrace, resting her forehead on his collarbone, which was becoming more prominent as the abundance of food waned. "…Wouldn't it just be easier to run? Run and hide away from the war? I mean, are those dreams even possible? Or are we just being children about it?"

"Hey, sweetheart, listen to me. Dreams are what you make them. They always have been. It's just—I think that…over time…people have forgotten how." He tilted her face up to look at him. "And honestly, when have you _ever_ been the kind of person to run from a fight?"

"…You kind of suck, being all logical."

Yuan laughed, the sound vibrating through Martel, warming her. "You love it."

She smiled at him, a smile that was worn and tired, but it was real. "…Yeah, I kind of do."


	62. The Human Capital

_I must study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy..._   
_~John Adams_

* * *

General Sandor Aurion had been in the middle of explaining a tactic to overtake the mountains from the half-breeds when the message came. "A bounty hunter expects us to make time for them? Direct them to the nearest army base; they can collect their bounty there."

"S-sir," the messenger started, glanced around at the other generals, not even daring to look at the king. "The criminal being brought in is…is Kratos Aurion."

His son. His blood traitor son.

Sandor looked to the king, bowing his head. "Your Majesty, may I request a temporary hold on this meeting in order to deal with this matter?"

The King of Sylvarant had gone gray too soon in life with very little of his blonde hair remaining. His face was lined from stress and he looked much older than his forty-odd years. Not that he was even supposed to be king. His brother was. But his brother had died on a beach invasion in the south almost ten years ago and he got left with a sister-in-law that was a bit too broken to be Queen.

"Kratos Aurion," the King repeated. "Your son, isn't he?"

"He is no family of mine, Your Majesty."

"But the rest of the world thinks he is. Bring him here so that we may deal with this matter more privately. No need to get the army gossiping about this."

"Yessir, Your Majesty." The messenger saluted before exiting the room.

The people he came back with were not what was expected.

Sandor's eyes went to Kratos first, automatically. _(Sometimes, he still sees the ghost of Melina and right now, she's there. The same hair, the same eyes…)_ He stood tall, shoulders back, spine straight, even with the chains around his hands. No shame to be seen. Proper military posture, even now; the school had drilled it into him well. His beard was shorter than the last time Sandor saw him, in that ranch—perhaps only a few weeks old and scraggly—but still unkempt. Being a prisoner would do that to you.

The real surprise was the woman. Tall, slender, beautiful. Her hair—an unnatural shade of green—was braided back and pinned to her head to prevent someone from using it as a handhold. Her brown eyes were sharp, steely and there was a tall wooden staff in her hands. Her breeches were tucked into a pair of well-worn boots and the belt slung about her hips was stuck with knives and pouches.

There was a boy beside her, long-limbed and of a similar unnatural beauty that Sandor had seen in full-blooded elves. His hair was getting long, tied behind him in a short tail at the nape of his neck. There was a sword at his hip and those blue eyes glinted with a similar kind of steel like the woman had. He was dangerous too, for all that he looked eleven.

The woman's eyes glanced around the room before she spoke. "No. I'm not a bounty hunter."

"Excuse me?"

Her eyes focused on the King. "Your Majesty, we did this so we could speak with you. We know that we wouldn't have been granted an audience otherwise."

The King stood, hands on the table. "Why shouldn't I just have you executed now?"

"Because then you don't get to hear what we have to tell you," she said. "And you want to hear this."

"What is this information that's so important?"

"A way to end the war."

"You want the humans to win? I don't buy it."

"You're thinking too small." Kratos took a step forward, hands slipping free from the chains. Sandor eyed him, wondered when he'd gotten rid of the stutter, where this confidence came from. "There isn't any information in the world that could make your soldiers stop dying out there in the field. The best information will still involve a sacrifice of your people."

"And what is a blood traitor's opinion on this?"

The slur didn't faze him. "My opinion doesn't matter. The _fact_ of the matter is that this war's been fought for two half-elven generations and more than that of the humans'. Anybody remember why?" He looked around, eyes passing over every one of them and his gaze didn't linger on Sandor a second longer than the others. "Of course not. You didn't start this. Your fathers and even your grandfathers didn't start this. But it's still happening because neither side can give up their pride to say it needs to stop."

"I don't hear a solution," the King said. "I just hear pretty words."

_(Sandor still remembers the first time he saw Melina teach. Stubborn, opinionated and with a challenging grin for her students to prove her wrong. Oh yes, Kratos is her son. But he is still trying to figure out how their son got so wrong)_

The blonde boy stepped up. "Here's a solution for you," he said. "Stop the fighting. Our King is equally willing to stop. Just—end it. Your people are dying just as much as ours are." His eyes went to the generals. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm tired of watching good people be piled into group graves and burned because there's no time to bury them. I'm tired of having to tell mothers and daughters that their husbands, fathers and brothers are never coming back."

"A child doesn't know a thing about war," William, one of Sandor's fellow generals, scoffed.

"That's a lie," Kratos said suddenly, anger in the undertones. "That's a flat out lie. I won't stand here and be self-righteous, saying that our side isn't using child soldiers too 'cause Mithos is proof of it, but the children of this war know it just as bad as you do. They've been raised with it, just like you were. We can't picture a life without the war and that in itself is part of the problem. We don't work for peace because we don't even know what peace _looks_ like."

The boy—Mithos?—picked up where Kratos left off easily. "But we can figure it out. It's trial and error, but I think we can do it. You just—you have to help us and we can help you."

"Why should we help the half-breeds?" Sandor challenged.

He saw a flash of temper pass across Kratos' eyes. "Because humans are no closer to winning the war than the half-elves. This is a war of attrition and everyone is going to lose." _(It's harder to keep his voice from trembling, even though it's just his father. He shouldn't be afraid. He is a grown man, with weapons and no drugs in his system this time. He can hold his own…)_

"Kratos is right," the woman said. She'd been quiet, but listening, watching. Now, her eyes were on the King. "And how do you want to go down in history? As another King in a long line of them that were part of this war or the King who helped end it?"

The King's eyes narrowed. "I will be known as the King who _won_ it. Guards! Arrest the half-breeds! Hang their bodies on the walls so that no other half-breeds will know what comes of impudence!"

The woman spoke a word and a blinding light shone. When the humans had regained their sight, the half-breeds were gone.

* * *

"This way!" Kratos called after Mithos and Martel, ducking into a servants' corridor.

They dashed past the kitchens, slipping through the cooks and the steaming dishes. The pounding of armored feet was audible throughout the corridors. They could turn and fight, but they would be incredibly outnumbered and besides, they had been here as ambassadors of peace. Fighting had to be the last option.

Kratos caught sight of gardens through a window. There had to be a way to the gardens nearby. Someone came around the corner and Kratos felt a spell rise in his throat, automatic and instinctive. But then he actually recognized the face and he relaxed.

Alstan had done quite a number on him. The old man had created a paste out of some herbs that was very brown to temporarily darken his hair. With his hair at such an angle that it covered the tips of his ears, he looked like human enough to pass. It made him look utterly ordinary so that people's eyes tended to pass over him.

"Guys, I found us a way out," Yuan said, eyes darting everywhere. "Let's go!"

They followed Yuan out through the gardens, ducking behind bushes and crowding behind trees to avoid being seen.

"You guys suck at diplomacy," Yuan told them, eyes on the castle walls. He was waiting for archers to take up the battlements and shoot them where they stood.

"Diplomacy only works when the other party agrees to it," Kratos replied, peering over the edge of the low wall they were currently hiding behind. "Okay, we're clear. We just need to make it out of the castle. The town won't be a problem, but if we get stuck in here, we're dead meat."

They were sprinting for the gate when Martel yelped as an arrow zipped over her head. "Um, they found us!"

"Fantastic," Mithos muttered, glancing behind them.

"Don't kill them," Kratos told him. "That's a last resort."

"Yeah, yeah. Wind Blade!" the half-elf shouted. He didn't put as much power as he usually did in the spell, making the wind just strong enough to knock them off their feet, but not enough to cut them or go flying off the battlements.

Mithos nearly smacked into Yuan's back when he screeched to a halt. Guards. Two of them blocking this gate with more on the way.

The one on the left glanced between them. Before any of them could blink, he'd shoved the hilt of his sword into the ribs of the other guard before knocking him unconscious. "They're locking down the city. All of it. Go to the town square and there's a little alley beside the baker. Knock on the door and tell them that Russell sent you."

Yuan broke first. "C' _mon_. We stay here, we're dead."

Russell nodded. "Good luck."

* * *

The baker was more difficult to find than the town square was. The lights were off and the paint on the sign was fading. A boy opened when he heard the pounding on the door.

"Rus sent you?" He glanced out at the mouth of the alley. "Come in, quick."

"Thank you," Martel said, breathing hard.

"No problem," the boy told them, raking his black hair out of his face. He looked a little older than Mithos, perhaps sixteen. "What's going on out there? They rang the bells for lockdown, but I haven't heard anything yet."

They glanced at each other. Kratos was the one who answered. "They're searching for us."

The boy studied them. "…you're half-breeds."

"Half- _elves_ ," Mithos corrected angrily.

Kratos expected the boy to wave the correction off, but instead he blinked. "Oh, sorry. Didn't know that's what you guys liked to be called."

Mithos' anger faded quickly, not sure what to do about this. He'd never seen a human besides Kratos really care about them. "What's your name?"

"I'm Peter. Rus is my brother. D'you guys want anything to eat or drink? We've got plenty of food." He led them through the kitchens of the bakery. It was small, but still more than Peter should have been able to manage on his own.

"Yes, please," Yuan said.

"It's been a long day," Martel added.

Peter smiled over his shoulder at them. "I get it. Grab a stool, I'll grab some extras."

After he'd left and they'd taken their seats, Mithos leaned forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. "I don't trust this," he said in an undertone. "A guard coming out of nowhere to help us and this guy trusting us just like that? Sounds too good to be true."

"You're right," Yuan agreed. "It does. It's probably a trap."

There was something unfinished about that sentence. "But?" Kratos prodded.

" _But_ if there's one thing I've learned, it's that people can be surprising. We're safe, for now. I think we should try trusting these two."

"They've offered us no violence," Martel said. "It would be hypocritical to not trust them now."

Peter came back with a small basket full of bread and a few sweetcakes, as well as a pitcher of water. "Here. Please, eat."

"Thank you. What happens during these lockdowns?" Kratos asked, taking one of the sweetcakes and splitting it in half automatically, handing one half to Yuan. "Do they search the buildings?"

"Not usually. But if they do, we've still got a place to hide ya."

"Not to be rude," Yuan began, swallowing a bite of sweetcake. Martel wanted to groan. That usually prefaced some incredible rudeness. "But why help us?"

"Half-bre—half- _elves_ ," Peter amended. Kratos didn't blame him. It was a difficult thing to get out of the habit with. He'd been younger and hadn't talked much, so it hadn't stuck as well, though Yuan had had to correct him once or twice. "Don't deserve to be treated like cattle. They're people too."

"Your government says differently," Kratos said.

Peter met his eyes. "You ain't half-elven, are you?"

"Aren't," the four of them corrected automatically.

Eyeing them strangely, Peter repeated it with the changed word.

Kratos shook his head. "No. I'm human."

"I thought so. I can't see any elven in you." He studied Kratos. "Now that I think about it, I've seen you on the wanted posters. Kratos Aurion, right? The army wants you something fierce. Are you related to General Aurion?"

Kratos cleared his throat a little. "He's my father."

"And I thought I had family issues. Why're you on the half-elves' side anyway?"

"Similar reason to you. People shouldn't be treated differently because of where they come from or what blood is in their veins."

Peter glanced between the other three. "…Can I ask you a potentially insulting question?"

"By all means," Yuan told him.

"Why are you called half-elves? I mean, you're half-human too, right? Why does no one call you half-man?"

"Because a half-elf is half-blooded," Martel replied. "A half-man is a half of a whole, to be less than what you are."

They jolted as someone pounded on the front door. "I'll be back," Peter told them. "Stay quiet."

He went out to the front, wiping his hands on a rag. The door creaked open. "Um, can I help you?"

"We're looking for four escapees. A woman, a child and two men. They're half-breeds. Have you seen anything suspicious?"

"I haven't seen much of anything. I've been working in the back since the lockdown sounded."

"No one's been through here?"

"Nope. 's lockdown. No one goes anywhere, right?"

"…You see anything, you report it."

"Yessir. No problem." The door shut and there was a rattle of locks before Peter came back. "Guards aren't a problem when you know how to work them."

"To work them?" Mithos repeated.

"Yup." Peter popped the P. "The guards know me. Rus used to take me to work with him sometimes, when I was too little to stay by myself. I'd stay in the guardhouse or the army barracks and the off-duty guys would play cards with me. Sometimes, I'd take one of their books and read. They trust me now. Or, the older ones do. They got a lot of new guards now."

"Hard to be an old anything, these days," Martel agreed. She'd seen a lot of young people die under her tent. And she was under no illusions—it was a perfectly good chance that one day, she'd be digging a grave for one of her boys.

* * *

It was hours before the lockdown ended and the front door opened and closed. Peter went out front. "Rus? That you?"

"Hey, Petey. They make it here okay?"

Russell and Peter both appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. Russell was out of his armor, looking haggard, but underneath the tiredness, Yuan could see the similarities. Black hair, same nose; they could only be brothers.

Russell smiled at them. "Good to know you guys are safe."

"Only because of you. Thanks for this." Kratos stepped forward, introducing himself with a shake of his hand. The other followed.

"Good to meet you all. My name is Russell Betel. And don't mention it. It needed to be done. I was on guard duty outside the war room. I heard what you guys told the generals—which, I gotta say, pretty ballsy to tell them that to their faces—"

"You betrayed your fellow guards," Mithos interrupted. "How did they not find out about you?"

"Because I jumped into some bushes and pretended you lot knocked me in there."

"Why would you betray them for us? You don't even know us."

"Like I said, I heard what you guys said in that war room. You're right. About all of it. There's—I'm part of a rebellion here in the capital. We don't have much power yet, but I know you guys could probably be a lot of help."

"You want to overthrow the King?" Kratos said incredulously.

"Yup."

"And—what? Put yourself on the throne?"

"No. Make it so there's no throne at all. The monarchy is decided by 'royal blood'? That's ridiculous. Blood is blood. We all bleed the same, so why do nobles get to have a better life than us? And without that kind of system, we could get rid of the stupid laws that are dividing people—half-elves and dwarves, elves and humans, all of us. We could make it better."

"No King?" Kratos traded looks with Yuan. They'd learned the same histories growing up. It was a long, unbroken line of kings. To not have one anymore was…they couldn't picture it.

"Yup. Have you ever met a real leader? Not like a King or a general, but someone who people just…followed? Because they believed in them?"

Yuan's eyes went straight to Kratos and Mithos. He'd seen a lot of people willing to follow them into suicidal situations because they backed up what they said. They didn't let people do things that they weren't willing to do. They cared about everyone. Good leaders, the both of them. Mithos still had a lot to learn, but that was natural. The kid was only, what, twelve?

_(Yuan hopes he can be a leader like them someday, but he doesn't think it's gonna happen. Not in this lifetime. He's too bitter, too venomous. He can't be like Kratos and Mithos, accepting of the other side's faults. He is more than willing to admit that he hates the humans; willing to work to end the war, yes, but he hates them still, somewhere in the part of his being that's branded like the numbers on his arm)_

Martel was the only one who actually answered. "Yes, we do."

"Now, picture this—people picking the leader, one they believe in. And it won't be just him in charge. He'll have…advisors and things like that, people to divvy up the power."

"It sounds like a good system, Russell," Kratos told him. "Really, it does. It's well thought out and—not to be insulting—but, how did you come up with it?"

"I didn't. A friend of mine did. He went to the university, studied politics and history."

"Did?" Mithos said. "So…he doesn't anymore."

Russell's eyes went dark. "No. He-he was too open about it. He and a couple of others were hanged for treason against the state."

"And you're continuing his work?"

Russell raked a hand through his hair. "Look, Nicholas was the best friend I ever had. I would've gone to the university with him, but—there were—circumstances. So he came to the capital for his fancy education and when he came home on school breaks, he would tell me all about these—these incredible ideas that he'd learned about. And we would bounce ideas back and forth. After a year, I moved here, with Petey, so we could support him. And then, two years ago, he gets killed."

"You must've loved him very much," Martel said quietly. To have uprooted his life here, with a little brother to look after, it was a difficult thing. Martel, of all people, knew that.

"He was family," Russell told her. "We have a couple of people here in town that agree with us, but it's not enough. We need strength behind us."

"And you want us to be that strength?"

"Yes!"

Yuan shook his head. "Look, it's not that we don't admire what you're doing here—it's amazing—but, we're here as peace ambassadors. We're not a rebellion, exactly. We're just trying to work with what we've got."

Russell's lips thinned. "Yeah…of course. I understand. You guys are welcome to stay here until the air clears."

"Thank you," Martel said sincerely.

* * *

The surprise wasn't that someone else couldn't sleep; it was the fact that it was Mithos, of all people, who was the one to join him.

Mithos rubbed at his eyes—he wanted sleep, his body needed it, but his mind had too many thoughts to even attempt it—as he stepped over to the window that Kratos was sitting under. "Somethin' wrong?"

He shook his head. "…No. Just reading."

Mithos sat beside him, ducking his head to read the front cover. " _Women in Literature_ by Melina Kormos. That doesn't sound like light reading."

"It's a textbook," Kratos explained. More than likely, it was one of the books that Russell's friend Nicholas had used for university.

The summery sky eyes glanced up at him, taking in every detail with rapid fire intelligence. "You haven't read this far into this book. Why is it important to you?"

Kratos closed the book and ran his fingertips over the name inscribed there. "This woman—Melina Kormos—she was my mother. I wasn't sure until I saw her photo in the back here. See?" A photo of her—only the second one that Kratos had ever seen of her in his life—as well as a brief description of her background were on the last page. He hadn't even known her maiden name.

_(The photo is older even than the one that Kratos has seen. This is before she got pregnant, before she married his father, maybe even before they ever met. She is trying for a serious expression, but her eyes are twinkling and there's a hint of a curve at the left corner of her lips. Her hair is pulled back, but it does little to tame it)_

"Your mother?!" Mithos exclaimed.

His reaction made Kratos chuckle a little. "Yes, I have one of those too, y'know."

"I _know_ that. I just never thought about it. Wow. Your mom was a teacher?" Mithos could think of very few professions that he respected more, Healers aside.

"Mmhm. At a university here in the capital. But that was years ago. I didn't think they'd still be using her textbook."

"Maybe there haven't been any more books written about that subject," Mithos suggested. "Or maybe there's no money to print those books. You said the humans aren't much better off, right?"

He hadn't thought about it that way. He was still reeling over seeing her face here, of all places. "Right, yeah…"

Mithos took a closer look at the picture. There wasn't any color left in the photo; it was old enough to have faded almost completely. "She was pretty."

"I always thought so." He paused. "…People used to tell me that I look like her."

"They thought you were pretty?"

Kratos burst out laughing, clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle the noise quickly so as not to wake the others. He grinned down at Mithos, an incredible fondness rushing into his body. "What—you don't think I'm pretty?"

The half-elf rolled his eyes, but matched his grin. "You wish. What…what happened to her?"

"What makes you think something happened?"

"You don't talk about her like you actually remember anything about her. And you always use the past tense when you refer to her…'s okay." Mithos wrapped his arms around his knees. "I don't remember my parents either."

"You don't?"

He shook his head. "No. Sometimes, I remember some…little detail. Like—a smile, or maybe just words they said a certain way. At least—I think I do. I don't know if I'm remembering it or if I'm imagining it based on what Martel's told me…she misses them, still. I wish I could, so she wouldn't feel like she was the only one who had memories of them, but—"

"It's nothing to beat yourself up over," Kratos assured him. "You were so young when they died; no one could expect you to remember that."

Mithos made a humming noise in his throat, though whether it was of agreement or just acknowledgment, Kratos couldn't be sure. Mithos leaned his head on Kratos' shoulder. "Read to me?"

"From here?"

"Uh-huh."

"It's just a textbook. There's no—no stories, or anything."

"Good. Then it'll put me right to sleep."

Kratos snorted, but opened up to the first page of a random chapter. "Chapter Eight: Mythology. In less contemporary literary works…"

He glanced down occasionally as he read to check on Mithos. The boy was breathing evenly and his eyes were closed, but some scrap of his attention was still on the words. At least it was rest, his mind distracted and calmed from his previous thoughts.

Kratos enjoyed reading this textbook. It was less on the subject matter and rather because of the fascinating glimpses into who his mother was. Her opinions, her knowledge, her teaching style. This textbook in this lonely forgotten corner of this city had given him more insight than fifteen years living under his father's roof.

Mithos finally settled to sleep, well after midnight. Kratos followed him reluctantly. He would need the sleep for the upcoming day. Perhaps he could talk to Russell about possibly taking this book with him for further study.

* * *

Early the next morning, Russell and Peter made them breakfast. With Martel's help, of course, because she insisted that it was the least she could do after all they'd done to help. As it turned out, Russell and Peter couldn't say no to her. But, Kratos thought, looking at Yuan and Mithos, who had been roped into washing dishes, at least those two were in good company. None of them could say no to her either.

"If we want to get you out of the city before the search parties go out, it'll have to be before the guards get mobilized. Which should be…" Russell glanced at the clock. "In a few hours."

"Is there a plan?" Yuan asked. "Because I don't fancy making a break for the front gate and hoping not to get shot."

"There's an underground way." Russell ran a hand over his short hair. "A few miles out, there was an old dwarven city. Actually, it might still be there. I have no idea. Either way, there are old tunnels they built that run underneath this city. Supposedly, they were used to keep travelers safe from the monsters."

"If that's the case, why not mobilize the military like that?" Mithos asked. "How far do the tunnels run?"

"We're not sure," Russell confessed. "We've done some recon work to try and map it out, but after a certain point, there's a lot of false tunnels and we kept getting turned around. Nicholas thought that the dwarves were hiding something out there, but there's no way to be certain. Not without dwarves to lead you through it, anyway."

"But there are tunnels that lead outside?"

"Absolutely! Here," Peter cleared a space for Russell to lay out a map. "There's an entrance in the old center of the city, in the east part. We go through there, lead you guys out and the military's none the wiser. Easy peasy."

"Sure," Yuan muttered. "'cause everything always goes that well."

"Stop being so pessimistic," Mithos told him, leaning his forearms on the table to get a closer look. "So. When do we leave?"


	63. Brothers and Fathers

_Right and wrong are not what separate us and our enemies. It's our different standpoints, our perspectives that separate us. Both sides blame one another. THere's no good side or bad side. Just two sides holding different views.  
-Squall Leonheart ( **Final Fantasy VIII)**_

* * *

"Told you this would happen!" Yuan shouted as he ducked into a corridor. He poked around the corner and thunder exploded down the hall with a word. Even that spell wore him out more than it should have and he was underground, well away from the magitechnology that pervaded the capital. "Just being pessimistic, my ass."

Kratos cut the legs out from under one of the soldiers with a sword he'd picked up from one of their fallen. Even if he wasn't dead, there was no way he was going to be able to follow them. "Y'know—if you stop complaining, we might be doing better!"

"Shut up! I'll zap you next!"

Yuan's next lightning bolts did get precariously close to Kratos—close enough to make his hair stand on end.

They'd been persecuted. Apparently, Russell and Peter hadn't considered that the soldiers would be on the lookout for suspicious activity—or even just out of the routine because they caught sight of them searching one woman's bag of groceries—and that they would follow them, alerting the other guards and getting what felt like half the military down after them.

"Close your eyes!" Martel told them. They obeyed instantly, even as they turned away. "Photon!"

Not only did the spell itself hurt those she was aiming for, but after fighting for a while in darkness, that sudden flash of light—not as natural or quick as lightning—was blinding.

"Quick, c'mon!" Mithos was easy to spot in the darkness of the tunnels with his pale hair and bright eyes. As they ran past him, a spell circle flashed beneath him. "Grave!" Walls of stone rose from the ground to cover their escape. Not quite a wall, but neither would the soldiers be getting through it anytime soon.

They'd lost Russell and Peter. Not to death—hopefully—but they'd gotten separated in the fighting. And they were relying on their own memories of the tunnels they'd seen on that map. Yuan and Mithos had damn good memories, but they weren't perfect. At some point, they'd be running blind.

"It was…left, right, straight, right…" Mithos was muttering as he led them through. A ball of witchlight hovered around and in between them; thanks to the Exspheres, their night vision was good enough that they didn't need too much light.

"Think that'll hold them?" Kratos asked Yuan.

The half-elf considered it as they turned another corner. "Depends on whether they wanna run the risk of the tunnel collapsing on them. They can chip away at it or try and shift the rock—which, good luck with that 'cause Mithos' spell won't budge—or they can get some dynamite and try blow it up and maybe bring the whole system down."

"Maybe, maybe not. The dwarves are excellent builders," Kratos reminded him. He wished he could stay and study the walls. There were inscriptions there, in dwarvish. He couldn't read it, but he could try and figure it out via the illustrations. "I would think it'd be sturdier than that."

"Yeah, but these tunnels have been neglected. And who knows when they were built? Maybe even pre-war era. I don't care how well it's built; eventually, it'll fall."

It might have been minutes, it might have been hours when Martel spoke up. "Do you feel that?"

Kratos didn't, but that was nothing new. "What is it?"

"The air. It feels…cleaner. Not so earthy. Fresh. Which means—"

Mithos grinned back at them. "A way out."

Indeed, not long after, Kratos could feel the effects. It was easier to breathe and see, the witchlight becoming unnecessary. Their feet ran into worn steps that were essentially a ramp now. The entrance to the tunnels was an opening in the mountain—dwarves worked directly with their material—and if there had been doors or gates to the entrance, they were long gone.

They weren't even entirely out of the tunnel before the smoke bombs went off. They covered their mouths and noses, but it wasn't just smoke. Something was sinking into their very skin. Their bodies wouldn't obey them, limbs stiffening up until they were completely paralyzed.

Kratos felt like he couldn't even move his eyes from where he'd fallen, but he would know the voice of his father anywhere.

"Don't kill them. The King wants a more public execution. To the prison with them."

* * *

The control of his body came back slowly for Yuan. He lay there, feeling the magitechnology in the bars of his cell and grimacing at how it made his stomach turn. He couldn't hear the others—not that he expected to, since the paralysis would still be getting through their systems—but neither had he been able to see where they'd been taken.

It felt like hours when he managed to sit up, leaning back against the wall as a wave of nausea rolled over him. He tried to speak, his mouth creaking open, but his mouth was dry and his throat felt a little swollen. The General was good, he'd give him that. However he'd managed to figure out about the tunnels, he'd also figured out a way to neutralize the gap between them. The four of them could have done quite a bit of damage against his soldiers before, if, they even took them out. But the gas had poisoned them, left them weak enough for transport. Crafty son of a bitch.

Yuan was beginning to get full movement back—his joints were horribly stiff, popping and cracking with every shift of his body—when the footsteps sounded. Two pairs. One pair was sharp, measured, militaristic. The other, decidedly not. A cell door opened—not his. Close by though—and one of the two people walked inside. There was no click of the lock turning and Yuan turned his head to face whoever it was.

And his breath left his body.

"Zaren?" he managed, pushing himself to his feet. _(He doesn't register it at first. Doesn't register the lack of chains, the lack of any of his brother's rebellious nature. Doesn't register the way that Zaren's eyes are pointed at the ground)_

His brother flinched a little at the sound of his name. _(This is a trick. It has to be. A hallucination. A side effect of that smoke gas…)_

"Zaren, what're you doing here? How did you—?" Get all the way over here? He'd been going to his family's village, to get them away from the humans. And Zaren wasn't an important prisoner, to be transferred past any ranches to come here, to the capital. He wasn't known to the higher-ups in the human military.

"Small world, isn't it?" Yuan finally registered General Aurion's presence. "I found it in a ranch. My guard informed me that it was close to one of your half-breed generals that we had captured." Yuan should have been used to being thought of as less than alive, as an object rather than a person, by a lot of humans. The General made it feel much more personal. "That's when I knew I had something."

Yuan's spine froze at the implication and he looked over at Zaren, who _still_ _wasn't looking at him._ "You never escaped that ranch, did you?"

Zaren's voice, when he spoke, was quiet. A little hoarse. "…He promised to keep me safe."

Any leash on Yuan's temper snapped. "You sold us out—sold _Viren_ out—just to save your own skin?!" The mana inside him rose in reaction to his temper, making him dizzy in the presence of so much magitechnology.

"…Yes."

Yuan rounded on the General, fists white-knuckled. "And you used him. Like he was nothing."

The General stood calm in the face of his rage, a mountain, unyielding against the wind. "Don't misunderstand. The both of you _are_ nothing. Your entire race is. Nothing was forced. It was an agreement and I've upheld my half. It hasn't been harmed much more since that ranch. It could walk out of that cell right now, for all the could it would do."

Not a prison cell, then. Not for Zaren. A holding cell.

Yuan didn't look away from him. He could stand up to this old man, could take him in a fight. He was no longer a starved little slave or one of the prisoners in a ranch. "So what do you plan to do with us now?"

"That's none of your concern, half-breed. It's not as if you can affect the outcome." The General about-faced, his footsteps sharp and precise until they faded away.

Silence reigned in that windowless room. Yuan had searched with his eyes for weak points, but now he used his hands, checking the corners and looking for hollow spots in the walls.

"You don't understand," Zaren said suddenly.

Yuan had been calming down, but his brother _(the traitor's)_ voice snapped it right back. "You're right! I don't! So why don't you _explain_ it to me?"

_(Zaren doesn't recognize this creature of indignation and fury that his little brother has become. Little. It's hardly appropriate anymore. Yuan is taller than him now, stronger than he could ever have been)_

"…You were in a ranch for, what, a few months? I was in that ranch," Zaren spat the word out. "For six _years_. If it weren't for the General, I would still be there."

Yuan was trying to find the logic, was trying to find anything to redeem this man. And he couldn't find anything. "Ignoring the fact that you betrayed me, betrayed Alstan and Myra, betrayed _all of us_ , why would you do that to Viren?" Viren, his best friend, his brother, his leader?

Zaren exploded. "Because I'm not you! You got the lucky draw, alright? I'm not brave, I'm sure as hell not strong. I couldn't stand to be in that place for another _second_. So when the General came with his offer, I took it. And I got a few people out with me, Viren included."

"And all it took was selling your soul and information to _him_."

Zaren's arm clenched, the numbers stark on the strong muscle, temper deflating a little. "You _can't_ understand, can you? It's literally impossible."

"No, I can't. You don't turn your back on people! Your friends! Your _family,_ for Sylph's sake!" His palm slammed against the cell bars; the physical release of temper helped a little, even though Yuan had to pause to get his breathing back under control. The room was spinning, though whether it was from the magitechnology or from…this, he didn't know.

" _Family?_ I thought you were _dead!_ Or worse!"

"There's nothing worse than death, Zaren! Sorry to disappoint you, but death's the end of the line."

"You're wrong about that. There's a lot of things worse than death, Yuan." There were shadows swirling in his brother's eyes, but Yuan didn't agree with him.

"And I wasn't talking about me when I said family. I was talking about Viren. The men under his command. Your comrades. Your brothers-in-arms. The men under _your_ command—shit. You've been sending your men out to die. _Knowingly_ sending them out because the humans were waiting for them. On your information."

"It's not like that," Zaren said, paling. "I didn't—"

"Of course you did. And you've been lying to yourself about it because you're a damn _coward_. Your wife, did she get out with you guys?"

"…Yeah."

"Does she know? That her husband is a—a blood traitor?" _(The slur tastes like poison in his mouth, but it feels better than whatever rot is currently spreading inside him)_

Zaren's eyes went hard. "No. No one knew."

"And now no one ever will, is that it? The secret dies with us? Because lemme tell you something, we're front of the line for death row. How'd the General know about the tunnels? You couldn't have told him that part."

"No. He figured that one out when his men reported seeing you guys going underground."

"So you're just going to let us die. Watch us get executed and hung from the city walls—all because you were afraid? And what happens when you're no longer useful, Zaren? Did you even consider that? You'll be next in line on that executioner's block. What about your wife and kid, and Viren? You're going to let them think you just—what? Died in combat? Were killed on the way? Where did you tell them you were going?"

"A mission. It wasn't a lie."

"Lies of omission are still lies." Yuan sighed, running a hand through his hair. So far, no weak spots to escape. "Do you know a way out?"

"Even if I did, I couldn't tell you that."

And he didn't even need a way out. Zaren's cell door had been left unlocked. But then, where would he go? What would he do? No need for locks and chains then. He was keeping himself prisoner. "You'd do that to me? Now?"

Zaren met his eyes for the first time. Behind the stubbornness, there was complete terror. "I'm not going back, Yuan."

Yuan let out a bitter sound that wasn't a laugh, but an approximation of one. "I'm not going to argue anymore. Clearly, you've made up your mind. I'm just gonna say one last thing: it's thanks to you that we've been losing this war. We might've started winning. Hell, we might've _won_. But thanks to you, the war that killed Poppi, and Dehua, and Kail is still going."

_(It's a deliberately cruel shot, bringing that up. Twisting the knife because Yuan can tell that however much Zaren might be sticking to his actions, he doesn't want to do them. But Yuan can be very cruel when he wants to be and right now, he absolutely wants to)_

* * *

Kratos heard Yuan's voice. Not clearly. It was muffled and a little distant, so maybe a few hallways over. The anger came through loud and clear though, even if Kratos couldn't tell what he was angry about. He waited for the shouting to die down and for the paralysis to fully leave his body before he leaned against the bars, angling his head to try and see out the hallway.

"Yuan!" he shouted.

There was a momentary pause. Kratos tried again. His throat felt like sandpaper; was he even making a sound?

Then Yuan's voice, shouting back, a little louder than before because Yuan could project his voice pretty far, like you could hear thunder when the storm was still far away. "Kratos! That you?!"

Kratos wanted to be sarcastic about it, but he knew that there were probably guards on their way to stop the not-so-stealthy conspiring. "Yeah! You alright?!"

"Mostly! You?!"

"I'm fine! Any sign of Mithos and Martel?!"

Martel's voice called out, "I'm here, guys! I'm okay!"

"And Mithos?!"

"No idea!"

"Martel?!" That voice was more distant than Martel's. Kratos could barely hear it. But she could.

"Mithos! You're alright?!"

"Yeah! I'm fine! Anyone having any luck with the bars?!"

There was an echo of 'No' down the hall.

"Any ideas?"

A second chorus of 'No'.

"Great," Kratos muttered to himself. They were going to be publicly executed, probably on the morrow, their bodies hung from the city walls and they were stuck here. Kratos and Yuan had the best chances of using magic to get out—Yuan because he was more used to magitechnology than the other two and Kratos because he was too human for it to have that full effect—but then they would have the guards on them and they wouldn't be able to fight through them all.

"Don't think of trying to escape. Save yourself a headache," a guard said.

Kratos glanced up at the guard. There was a hand axe on his belt, the standard issue sword and gun on the right hip. So either he was left handed or he preferred the axe and wore the other two because orders were orders. The guard was large, stocky with the bulk of muscle. His hair was cut military short, but there was something vaguely familiar about his face.

"Yeah, well, I'm dead by morning anyway."

The guard didn't answer, continuing his rounds. Kratos leaned his head back against the wall, mind still going a mile a minute. He'd checked the bars for any structural problems, looked for a loose tile in the floor, anything. And there was nothing to be found.

"Y'know something, Yuan?!" Kratos finally called. If this was his last night, it wasn't about to be spent in silence.

"What?"

"I'm getting really tired of getting put in prison."

The answering laughter was bitter and staccato. _(The sound is_ wrong _and Kratos wants to know what happened over there…)_ "Me too, Kratos."

The guard was back, staring down at him. "Kratos," the guard repeated. The swordsman looked up automatically at his name. "Kratos Aurion?"

Kratos frowned up at him. There was familiarity there, not just repeating a name seen on a wanted poster. He hauled himself up to his feet, limbs still kind of heavy from the gas. He studied that vaguely familiar face, but no name came to mind. "Do I know you?"

"'s been years. Wouldn't expect you to remember me. Though I was kind of surprised to see the wanted posters. Didn't think you'd ever actually _rebel_."

Kratos blinked at him, slowly taking in the voice, imagining it less deep, mentally erasing lines from the face. "Abernac?"

The guard grinned, just a little. "Got it in one."

"Thought you wanted a soldier. What're you doing being a prison guard?"

Abernac's eyes went dark. "Got drafted. Went to the front lines. Some magic spell started a landslide up in the mountains, broke my leg in three places. That was five months ago. My leg won't ever heal all the way back. At least, that's what the doctors say. But I'm still useful, so I got stuck here." _(And he hates it. Hates the routine, hates the blank eyes of the prisoners, hates the unchanging view and he hates,_ hates _how his leg still trembles if he stands or walks too long)_

"I'm sorry," Kratos said, genuinely feeling it. He couldn't fathom why Abernac had ever wanted to be a soldier, but to be told that he was unable to be one now—there were few things worse than that.

"I'm getting over it. What happened to you? Last I heard of you, you ran away from the school." Or, that had been the rumor. No one had really known where the bookish son of General Aurion had disappeared to. Or why.

"I'd had enough," Kratos told him. It wasn't really a lie.

"And you did—what, odd jobs—for all these years?"

The wry twist of Kratos' lips could almost be a smile. "Joined the military. Just on a different side."

"Why?"

There was a blank moment of confusion. He honestly hadn't expected Abernac to ask that. "Why what?"

"Why join the half-breeds?"

"Half-elves," Kratos corrected. "And…because they're not what our textbooks and the teachers and—everyone—says they are. They're not savages, they're not evil. They're people. Just like us. Good sides and not."

Abernac snorted. "Trust you to make it make sense."

Kratos hadn't been this confused in a long while. And he said so.

The former soldier smiled, a bitter, lopsided thing. "…After that landslide, the first people to find me weren't humans. And they could've left me there. I wouldn't have blamed 'em. But they didn't. They pulled me out, one of them patched me up a little. Just enough to stop the bleeding. But some of our platoon was starting to come up the debris and they made a break for it. But they saved me. And they didn't have to. So, I started thinking...maybe we were wrong."

"So why are you still here? Why don't you—"

"Fight back? I'm not _you_ , Kratos. I don't know when you changed so much, but I'm not strong like you are. I just want to do my job, make a living, bring food home back to my wife and daughter."

"You have a daughter?" The idea seemed so foreign to Kratos, but then he remembered that he was—what, twenty-five? Twenty-six? That was perfectly old enough to have children. "How old is she?"

"She's seven. Most beautiful girl I've ever seen, but don't tell my wife that."

Kratos curled his hand around the bars, leaning his face between them. "Abernac, listen to me—unless something changes, she's going to grow up just like we have. Hating people she's never met, seeing them as—as sub-human for a reason that we don't know. She's going to grow up, probably marry a soldier and one day, likely as not, some colonel is going to come to her door and tell her that her husband was found dead on some battlefield. And she's going to be a widow at twenty-something, probably with a kid. And the military won't give a damn about her because there's thousands more just like her. Don't let that happen to her."

"And what do you propose I do?" Abernac demanded before lowering his voice. "Rebel and be executed for my trouble? Let my wife think I'm a blood traitor for this?!"

"Let me go," Kratos told him. "Let me and my friends go. We're working on a way to stop the war. Peacefully. With as minimal killing as we can get."

"That's impossible. We can't get peace."

"Not if we don't try for it."

Abernac stared at him, unable to quite look away from the stubborn look in Kratos' eyes. _(He's having a hard time reconciling this strong man with the short kid who'd helped him with math. The warrior with the kid who'd had a hard time picking up a sword. But it isn't hard to believe that that kid became the tenacious dreamer in front of him)_

After a long moment, he sighed and got the keys from his belt. "You're lucky," he muttered, unlocking the door. "That those half-breeds that found me that day were the good kind. Otherwise, I might have just left you here."

"If the half-elves hadn't rescued you that day, you might not even be able to stand right now," Kratos pointed out. "But thank you."

"C'mon, let's find your friends, Aurion. Wait—" Abernac went back into the guardroom and came out with four spheres in his palm. "These were confiscated from you."

The Exsphere hurt as Kratos reinserted it into his skin, but he was grateful to get them back. There was a good chance that they wouldn't make it out of here alive without them.

It didn't take much to find Yuan. The half-elf looked sick, so Kratos was willing to bet that he'd tried some magic to get out, but the amount of magitechnology in this prison was astounding. Then he followed Yuan's eyes across the hall to see Zaren, sitting in an unlocked cell.

"What—"

Yuan stood up from where he'd been leaning against the wall, as far away from his brother as he could get. His eyes were hard as he looked at Zaren. "He's a spy, Kratos, and a traitor."

Perhaps Zaren didn't want to even try to fight Yuan with that kind of rage in him. Even Kratos could feel it, the mana inside Yuan, vibrating and waiting for an excuse to escape. Or perhaps Zaren had lost the will to fight any more.

Yuan glanced at Abernac—there was no recognition on his face. It might have been the anger or it might have been the long years between them—and said, "Lock this cell. Throw away the key. Leave him locked in here until the day he dies for what he's done."

Abernac looked between Kratos-and-Yuan and Zaren. He nodded, locking the cell door. _(He doesn't understand fully what's happening, he can't. But no one likes a traitor, even if he's kind of one right now)_ "I can do that."

Martel and Mithos were several corridors down, three cells away from each other. Abernac would walk the hallways first, searching for guards. After making sure the coast was clear, he would whistle twice and they would follow him down. Both of the siblings looked sick, pale and drawn, their eyes glassy.

The sight of Martel in such a state snapped Yuan from his anger. He helped her to her feet, letting her lean on him. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"It's—it's this magitechnology," she managed. "It's…like a poison."

Kratos hoisted Mithos up. The kid may have had a lot of muscle on him, but he was still skinny and still shorter than him, so it wasn't a problem to haul him around. He took Mithos' hand, reinserting the Exsphere. Mithos was too tired to even flinch. "How do you feel?" Kratos asked the boy on his back.

He buried his nose in the back of Kratos' neck. "How d'you think?" he muttered venomously. "Let's get outta here."

Kratos looked to Abernac. "What's the easiest way out?"

"There's not many exits. But there is a guard barracks that isn't used very often. I can lead you there."

Still half-supporting Martel, Yuan followed them out. He saw Kratos glance back at him a few times, a question in his eyes—and Yuan already knew the questions he was asking, but he didn't want to answer them. It was down the stairs and two rights and a left—Yuan had to make the mental map, just in case—before Abernac let them out. The magitechnology was suffocating; Yuan could feel it in the back of his throat, thick like when he was sick and his voice didn't want to work. He could feel it under his skin, crawling and writhing like something alive.

"And so traitors beget traitors."

They all froze on instinct. General Sandor Aurion stood behind them in the doorway to the barrac shadow stretching across the room as if it had a mind of its own. There was a sword at his waist, a gun aimed at them.

Yuan had always seen the General in a position of authority. He knew that the man was a very capable strategist—a trait that Kratos had inherited—and that he had to be very intelligent and a survivor to have gone into the war in his youth and come out on the other side. This, however, was something he'd never really thought about. The General as a soldier, as a warrior, just like his son. Perfectly capable—and more than willing—to kill.

"The other generals said that I was being ridiculous, that no one breaks out of this prison. But I decided to stay out here, just in case. I'm glad to see that it wasn't for nothing."

They didn't even have a chance to run. Kratos watched it happen in slow motion. His father fired the gun, the sound echoing off the walls. He moved before he knew what he was doing, shoving himself in front of the others, the mana in his body rising in reaction to the adrenaline. _(He forgets that he has Mithos on his back, forgets that it's not just him)_

His heart stopped as Kratos watched the bullet come straight at him, but he stared as it stopped short, several inches in front of him.

There was a barrier—pale green and net-like—and it was gone as soon as Kratos had a chance to marvel at it. General Aurion raised the gun again, but this time, Kratos wasn't afraid. He leaned toward Abernac. "Take Mithos. Get the others out of here. I'll hold him off."

He felt Yuan's expression, though he couldn't see it. "Kratos—"

He didn't let the half-elf finish that sentence. "Go. I can do this. I'll meet up with you." How exactly he was going to do that wasn't the point. That part came later.

Abernac traded him his sword for Mithos, who was too tired and queasy to do more than glare warily at the human who had him in his arms. "Be careful. That gun's no joke."

"It is now." Kratos met his father's eyes, fighting the old, instinctive flinch of fear in his stomach. "That's a Mertle 270. Lots of power, but a long reload time. Used to be standard issue before we upgraded."

Abernac readjusted his grip on Mithos before turning to leave. It took Yuan a long moment before he followed, still helping Martel. _(She wants to stay, wants to push Yuan away and tell him not to be so stupid, to not leave Kratos here, to fight his_ father _of all people. But there is no matching Kratos' stubbornness at times like this, she knows and she is in no shape to help him)_.

Kratos forced himself to forget them, to focus on his father and only him. The father who was now drawing his sword and Kratos had to make a conscious effort to steady his legs. _(He is no child, he reminds himself. He shouldn't have to, but here he is. He's and adult. Independent. Powerful. There is no reason for fear)_

" _You're_ going to hold me off?" Sandor repeated. "You may have improved your swordsmanship, but you can't defeat me."

Kratos readied himself, let his muscles relax, clearing his mind as much as he could. This was battle. He could do this. He was _good_ at this. "I don't believe that. And neither do you."

A grunt of acknowledgement. Kratos never saw him move—even as accustomed to fighting half-elves as he was, his father was _fast_ —and he blocked in time only out of instinct. His arm went momentarily numb from the power behind the blow. He pushed back, darting away before swinging the sword back around because his father might have been fast, but he was faster. Maybe not stronger—not with his Exsphere having been confiscated—but he had magic. Kratos grinned a little despite himself at the irony; he had to fight his father like a half-elf.

So when he rushed back in, his father parried and they clashed back and forth, each trying to get past the other's guard. Glancing a strike off with the sword hilt, Kratos quickly stabbed towards his father, mana singing in his blood. "Lightning!"

The force of the strike was nearly enough to send Kratos backwards. It had been badly aimed, just barely zapping Sandor's arm. It was, however, enough to loosen his grip on the sword. Kratos pressed his advantage. Sandor was getting tired, but he dodged well, constantly keeping too close for Kratos to use the sword effectively and continuously circling, making Kratos readjust every time he tried to strike.

Sandor threw out a punch. Kratos—still recovering from a well-placed kick to his knee—was sent sprawling with the force of it. The human army was taught basic hand-to-hand, but it had been a long time since Kratos had seen it.

Sandor scooped up his son's sword with the other hand, since his sword arm still had occasional spasms. Kratos jumped back to his feet, but he had to scramble to defend himself against the onslaught that his father was unleashing against him. Kratos shot a fireball, the spell hurried and messy. It sputtered to life, but it was enough to distract Sandor and let Kratos start fighting back. He used another lightning spell, this time better aimed. His father dropped, the electricity coursing through his body.

Kratos stood above him, breathing hard. _(This is him. Powerful and triumphant. But the person lying there is not the awe-inspiring figure of his childhood. It is an old man, broken and knocked from his pedestal)_

Sandor didn't flinch away from the sword that Kratos picked up, aimed at his throat, didn't break his gaze, didn't grovel for his life. He was too proud for that, had been a warrior for too long to be afraid of death. "You may have killed before," he panted. "But this isn't a battlefield. Are you to kill a downed man? Does your honor and morals," The two words were sneered. "Allow for that?"

"You've murdered and enslaved thousands," Kratos began, his grip unwavering. "And you think you're still human?"

"More than you are, with that heathen blood in you."

There was no remorse anywhere inside him. Some tiny part of Kratos had been hoping for it, that there was some good to this man. But there wasn't. He was a monster.

"You're not human," Kratos told him, strangely calm. "You're not even a person. You're a monster and you deserve to die for what you've done."

"And you're going to play judge, jury and executioner?"

With a jerk of his hip, Kratos' arm thrust forward, stabbing straight through his father's throat. He waited several more moments, watching the blood spill onto the floor into a growing puddle. Now that it was over, nausea started swimming in the back of his mind, a reminder of exhaustion and the magitechnology that was everywhere.

"Yes," he told the corpse. "I am."


	64. Capital Aftermath

_Hearts will never be made practical until they are made unbreakable.  
-The Wizard of Oz_

* * *

Yuan couldn't rest. There was no way. Martel had tried to get him to at least get a few hours of sleep, but he'd been able to outlast her; she was still recovering from the vague sickness that magitechnology gave her to really be stubborn about anything.

If she—or anyone, but Martel had been the only one to say something—thought that he was going to be able to rest when his best friend was still back there fighting his father, they had another thing coming. And there was the matter of the guard. Yuan glanced back occasionally, just to make sure that he was still where Yuan left him. The guard might have gotten them out, but Yuan was going to have a hard time trusting anyone for a while. _(He is still processing about Zaren. He knows that he has betrayed them, has_ been _betraying them, but he is still trying to understand how he could have done it)_

Noishe, who had followed them to the city and stayed on the outskirts, was now circling the city, searching for Kratos. He came by every now and again to check on Yuan and the others in their hiding spot. It might have been a swamp during the rainy season, but now, it had dried up and they were curled beneath the roots of one of the trees.

Yuan's head jerked up at Noishe's whistle, low and long. As the great bird neared, Yuan could make out something on his back. Kratos! Yuan scrambled up the loose dirt to meet them. He helped Kratos down off of Noishe's back. He was a bit pale and he looked almost…shell-shocked.

"Are you okay? What happened?" Yuan looked his best friend over for injuries. He didn't seem to be bleeding—or if he had been, the bleeding had stopped—but blows to the head weren't always that visible. "Do I need to wake Martel?"

Kratos shook his head and let Yuan carry most of his weight. The half-elf managed to get him under the cover of the tree. Martel and Mithos were curled together against a root, still asleep.

"Hey," Yuan said softly. He pushed Kratos' hair out of his eyes. It was getting long again; he'd probably want a haircut soon. "You're worrying me here. I need a couple of words, at least."

When Kratos finally opened his mouth, his voice was little more than a croak. "…I killed him."

Yuan stared at him. "What?"

"My father." Kratos' shoulders were shaking a little beneath Yuan's hands, but whether it was from shock, fear or cold, he couldn't say. "I killed him."

"I—" Yuan was at a loss for words. But Kratos seemed to have found his.

"In cold blood. I'd already defeated him, y'know? He was down. I-I could've just crippled him or something." Now that he'd found his words, Kratos couldn't seem to stop. "But I chose to kill him."

For Yuan, his next question was a stupid one. But he knew for Kratos, it wouldn't be. "Do you regret killing him?"

To his surprise, Kratos answered immediately. "No. He-he was a monster. He'd hurt so many. I couldn't let him keep hurting people. You know—knew—him. He wouldn't have stopped. Not ever and-and I figured this would be my only shot."

"Did you expect me to argue with you or something?" Yuan tilted his head down so that Kratos had to meet his eyes. "If you think it was the right thing to do, than it probably was."

_(Sadly, this helps. Yuan is grateful that this happened. Zaren has been pushed to the back of his thoughts—constantly there—but this, this helps with the pain of the betrayal. Keeping Kratos safe and sane is what Yuan is good at and—no matter what Kratos may say, no matter how sure he is that killing his father had been a good idea, Yuan knows that it will still hurt him somewhere)_

Yuan sat down properly instead of kneeling, his knees starting to get a little sore. Kratos had gone silent again and it didn't take long until he was asleep on Yuan's shoulder. Yuan just shifted his shoulders a little and let him keep sleeping, hoping that there were no nightmares tonight. Not for anyone.

Feeling eyes on him, Yuan glanced up. The man that Kratos had convinced to free them was watching with guarded eyes. "There a problem?" Yuan asked in a loud whisper.

The man shook his head. "He—he really killed the General?"

"Looks like. Does that bother you?"

"…I don't know." _(It should, Abernac thinks. It should bother him that this war hero has been killed by a blood traitor son. But it doesn't, really. But then, this—following Kratos and these half-breeds—doesn't feel right either. He doesn't know what to think anymore)_

Yuan snorted. "Well. At least you're honest."

* * *

The human capital was deep into their territory. Unsurprising, but they couldn't take the route they'd come through. There was a very good chance that Zaren had told the human generals about it. They sent Noishe with a message to Myra and Alstan, warning them of Zaren.

_(Martel is the one to write the message. Yuan won't and Kratos…he's been quiet since the capital. And not his usual, peaceful quiet. This was a heavier, darker kind and Yuan can't help him either)_

Abernac didn't talk much, but Martel couldn't blame him. She tried, a few times, to start a conversation, but he would end up either unintentionally rude—and she would correct him, which made him go silent for the rest of the day—or he would end up talking about his wife and daughter, which also made him go quiet.

Yuan tried to talk, some days. The attempts at conversation were akin to chewing glass. _(It hurts to see him like that. To see_ both _of them like that. But even Yuan talks more than Kratos does and Martel doesn't even know what to do or say. She has no idea how to begin to fix them because they are so very broken right now)_

She would talk with Mithos, an option that she never minded. He had suggested early on when they'd figured out they couldn't go back the way they came, that since they had to go the long way around _anyway_ , that they might as well make pacts with a few Summon Spirits while they did.

There hadn't been any objections. Martel hadn't expected any.


	65. Road to Recovery

* * *

_Can you remember who you were before the world told you who you should be?_  
Danielle La Porte  


* * *

The room went silent, the air buzzing with shock. Myra and Alstan were grave, their ages showing in their eyes despite their still relatively youthful faces. Viren let out a strangled sound, though whether it was a cry or a scream, Yuan couldn't say.

"To General Aurion?" Alstan repeated finally. "He gave information to him?"

Yuan nodded tiredly. They had sent word ahead that Zaren had been compromised, but they hadn't given details.

"And he was so close. To everything."

"He's still alive," Yuan told them, voice slightly hollow. "We left him locked in a cell, but—who knows how long that'll last."

"Not long." Viren had found his voice. "He's no longer useful. They'll kill him and dump his body by the road. No burial. No nothing."

Myra glanced at him. "A burial? You can't sympathize with that traitor."

Viren's eyes flashed, fists clenching. "He's my best friend! My brother!"

"He _was_ ," Yuan corrected, voice harsher than he intended. "You can't forgive traitors. No matter who they are."

Viren's mouth twisted cruelly. "Would you be able to tell me that if it was _him_?" He pointed to Kratos, who despite being at Yuan's side for the entire report, had said nothing. That was the norm, though, since the capital.

Yuan's mouth went dry. _(He knows exactly what he would do. He'd tear through any army, single-handedly if he had to, to get to him. Might even follow him to the other side because they're -and-someones and that's just how that works)_

But his mouth refused to be cowed. There was still too much rage from Zaren and protectiveness for Kratos in him. "But it's not him. He's the one who killed his own father for us, not the one who abandoned his wife and kid, betrayed his own people and lied to everyone!"

The others went still, but Kratos still wasn't speaking much. _(It worries him, to be completely honest. Kratos has always been the quiet sort, but this isn't his usual kind. This is withdrawal. Yuan had kind of hoped that speaking of his father would spark_ some _kind of reaction)_

"General Aurion is dead?"

"Yes," Kratos spoke for the first time since they'd arrived back in the half-elven capital. "I did it."

Alstan eyed the boy carefully—not that he was much of a boy anymore. _(He's damaged. That much is apparent. His eyes are dim, not meeting anyone else's. No matter what he might say or believe, killing his father had hurt him somewhere deep. Alstan still remembers how he used to idolize the man, remembers the boy who had been so terrified of disappointing him. That boy is still in there somewhere)_

"Both of you go get some sleep," Alstan said tiredly. "There's nothing more you can do. Thanks for your report. Can you send in Martel and Mithos on your way out?"

After nodding, Kratos-and-Yuan turned to leave, but Alstan called Yuan back. "I know you probably don't need to be told this," he said in an undertone. "But don't let Kratos be alone."

"Yessir."

* * *

Alstan and Myra listened to the siblings' report patiently, but Viren was full of restless energy, constantly shifting his weight, crossing and uncrossing his arms. Alstan couldn't blame him. His best friend was a traitor.

"So you made a pact with Luna and Aska."

Mithos nodded. They'd nearly gone night blind during that fight. None of them had considered that fighting the Spirits of Light while it was dark was a really bad idea. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the stone that they had dropped. It was smooth and milky, shot through with an array of blues. "They gave us this."

Myra plucked it from his hand, studying it. "It's moonstone. It has quite a few magical properties, depending on where you go. The warrior monks that worship Shadow use them not only to refract light, but also because they believe that they bring the owner beautiful dreams. The elves will tell you that if a woman wears a moonstone on her wedding day, Luna the Great Mother will bless her with many children." She gave it back to him. "It is a great gift, what they've given you."

"Is that why it took you so long to get back?" Alstan asked. If he looked carefully, he could see the changes each Summon Spirit had brought to Mithos. Efreet had given his passion fire and fuel; Gnome had brought his head down from the clouds, even if only a little. Luna and Aska…they had likely been his guardian Spirits since birth. That was an elven tradition, asking specific Spirits to be a child's guardian. Alstan could understand Mithos' parents reasoning; he was a sky child, blue eyes, blonde hair. Asking the Spirits of Light to guide him made perfect sense.

"We couldn't have gone back the way we came," Martel pointed out. "We couldn't run the risk of Zaren having told the humans about that route. We took the long way back and since we were in the area anyway…"

"Understandable. And a good thought, since it would be difficult to have gotten to those temples otherwise." Alstan leaned forward. "Now, Martel, I need your professional opinion on something."

"Of course."

"Kratos and Yuan—how bad off are they?"

"To be honest, it's bad. Yuan, at least, seems to be working through it. The first week after we escaped the capital was…it was pretty quiet. But he's had his good days and bad days. Kratos though…I don't see him working through it. He just kind of keeps spiraling downwards. I can't tell for sure, of course, but that's what I see." She fiddled with loose threads on her shirt. There were dark circles beneath her eyes; had she been unable to sleep or had she been staying up to watch over the others?

"Is there anything that can help them?"

"Yuan—I think he needs to feel like he's helping again. Like he's _doing_ something."

"And Kratos?"

"I've never seen him like this. I-I don't know." _(And it's tearing her apart. These are her boys, she should know how to help them, should be able to help them, but she can't)_

Alstan sighed. "I appreciate your honesty."

"What will happen to Abernac?" Martel asked.

"He is under guard, for now. We can't trust him," Myra answered.

"He saved us," Mithos said. "We wouldn't have gotten out if it weren't for him."

"I know," Alstan said. "But in light of Zaren's betrayal, we have to be more cautious. Why would he save you? What does it get him?"

"It doesn't always have to get people something!" Mithos wasn't aware of raising his voice. It felt good, after so many weeks of awkward, tense silences and vague attempts to make conversation. "People can be good, you know. Not for anything or anyone. They just _are_."

"It doesn't work like that," Myra told him.

"No?" he challenged. "Then why would he," Mithos gestured to Alstan with a sweep of his arm. "Have trained two kids in a military school? He didn't know what would happen. For all he knew, Kratos was off to fight the war on the humans' side! And I've seen you in the healing huts. You do a lot of things that you don't have to for those people. I've heard you at night, when the soldiers have night terrors." She sang lullabies, elven ones. Even if the soldiers didn't know what she was saying, the tone and rhythm were so soothing, it would put them back to sleep. "What's your logic on that?"

_(He half expects Martel to call him on his rudeness, but she's had enough too. Had enough of the silences, enough of the excuses. Both of them had been company for Abernac as they travelled. They'd come to some kind of understanding, even if they aren't friends. And Abernac doesn't deserve this)_

Myra's face hardened, her walls slammed up instantly. Alstan could have told Mithos not to bring that up; she only ever sang for her patients, these days. But he remembers before they joined the war, how her lovely voice could be heard throughout the village, carried on the breeze. How her wonderful songs stopped the day the humans dared bomb an elven village, the day her husband and daughter were found in the wreckage. The elves had retaliated terribly; no more bombs had been dropped in their direction. And Myranda the Healer had gone cold, leaving Myra in her place.

"You want to leave this room," she said, voice the deadly kind of quiet. 

Mithos' fists were trembling with the force of his anger. "Damn right I do."

The door slammed and Martel was left standing there. But she was unafraid of Myra's temper. At her core, Myra was a Healer; she didn't like hurting people. "He's right and you know it."

"Don't start."

"You can't avoid this. Abernac has done nothing to deserve your treatment of him. He just had the luck—bad or good—to be born human! Isn't that what we're fighting against?"

Alstan put a steady hand on Myra's shoulder, a warning and a comfort. "It's not a prison cell, Martel. Just under guard. General Lyrion has final say on what's to happen when he returns from the south front."

Martel's lip curled a little at the very mention of Lyrion and she wanted to argue that putting him under guard was almost the same thing, but she knew that, before Kratos-and-Yuan had come to prove everyone wrong, Abernac was likely to have been killed or imprisoned on sight. This was progress.

"Okay. Have a good night." Martel turned to leave and Viren was already opening the door, following her out.

Viren waited until they were at the end of the hallway to speak. "…When you see Yuan, tell him I want to speak to him."

She folded her arms. "Without shouting and accusing?"

"I can't promise that." His eyes were hollow and he was approaching some kind of desperation. What the desperation was for, Martel couldn't say. _(Why will no one understand? They have brothers. Best friends. Spirits only know what they are willing to do for them. Why are they so blind when he tells them that this was his brother? And it hurts more than he can articulate that Zaren betrayed them. Betrayed_ him)

Martel let out a long breath. "I'll pass on the message, but I can't guarantee he'll go talk to you."

"That's all I can ask."

* * *

Yuan lay curled beneath his thin blanket, staring at the wall, back to Kratos. He wanted to stop thinking, stop remembering. "Kratos," he finally said into the darkness. Noishe was ever watchful by the door, but he didn't twitch at the sound of Yuan's voice. "Kratos, you're gonna be okay, right?" _(He's never been so unsure about something when it comes to Kratos. It has Yuan on edge)_

It took Kratos a long time to answer. "…Yeah. Yeah, I'll be fine." His voice was hoarse and scratchy from so little use over the past weeks.

Yuan wasn't sure if he could believe him.

* * *

Alstan stood just in the doorway of Myra's quarters, quietly shutting the door behind him. She looked up from the scroll she was reading.

"Something wrong?" she asked. Alstan rarely entered a room without permission.

"You tell me," he said. "The things that Mithos said—they were a little too close to home, weren't they?"

Her face hardened, but Alstan was unfazed. Myra might be able to lie to the rest of the world, but the rest of the world didn't remember her like he did. "I'm fine."

"Uh-huh." Alstan pulled up a stool to sit across from her. "Myranda…you know that it _is_ okay to miss them? To grieve?"

"Of course I do."

Alstan's eyes were dark and sad, his age showing through. ( _They never speak of the disaster that had taken her family. He had been going to Heimdall then, to finish his studies, and she had just finished her apprenticeship to the Healers'. He'd been the one to find her, on her knees, holding her little girl's broken bracelet of small flowers inlaid with aquamarine in front of the wreckage. She has it still, he knows this. Wrapped in a square of cloth that never leaves her bag)_ "...So why don't you wear your wedding ring anymore? Why don't you sing?"

Her eyes flashed dangerously. "I don't need to explain myself to you, Alstan."

"No," he admitted. "I'm just suggesting that your husband and daughter wouldn't want to see you living like this."

He never saw her move, but suddenly, he found himself pressed against the wall, her forearm on his throat. "My husband and daughter are _dead_. They're not coming back and they're not up in some heaven watching me. They're nothing more than ashes in the ground."

Alstan looked down at her. The pressure she had on his throat was slight, no threat behind it. Just holding him there. "…Please don't tell me you believe that."

"I couldn't save my family. No Spirit answered my prayers. Why should I believe otherwise?"

"Because their memory deserves better that that. _You_ deserve better."

Myra removed her arm, taking several steps back. She was still coiled, anger poised and ready to strike again. "Get out."

* * *

It was two days later that Martel found him on one of the city walls, straddling a battlement, eyes staring out, as ever, to the horizon. It was fuzzy, this early in the morning, tinged pink and gray.

"Hey," Martel greeted. "I haven't seen you in a while."

As she mirrored his position, he just had to take a few deep breaths. "Sorry. I had to get out. I needed some air."

"What about Kratos?"

"I-I don't know what to do, Martel." And that was what scared Yuan the most. He didn't know how to help his best friend. "I've tried everything I can think of. Maybe he just needs some space."

"Don't be ridiculous." Her voice was unconsciously sharp and she hated how he flinched at the sound. She calmed herself, but didn't apologize. "Yuan, Kratos needs you. That's—it's a fact of life. The sky is blue, grass is green and you two need each other."

"I don't know how to help him."

Martel took her lover's hands, thumbs rubbing soothing circles over them. "I don't know either. But I think you help just by being there. By reminding him that he's not alone. Otherwise, he'll start to think he's scared you away with what he's done."

"What? That's—he couldn't ever do that." Especially not with something like killing his father. Yuan had actually been rooting for that outcome for a while.

"And if he were in his right mind, he would know that. But right now, he doesn't." When Yuan didn't respond, Martel asked, "What is it?"

Yuan forced the words out because if he couldn't tell this to Martel, who could he tell it to? "…I'm afraid I'll break him. Kratos. He's close to that point, I think and with the way I am right now, if I lose my temper, I'm afraid he'll break."

"Break him?" Martel had a very hard time picturing that. Kratos was so strong, so solid. He'd grown so much. Surely it would take much more than that to undo all his progress.

Yuan didn't know how to explain it to her. Didn't even know that he would if he could. "…It's a lot easier than it looks."

"So instead of maybe possibly losing your temper at him, why don't you talk to me?"

Yuan gave her a look. "What do you think we're doing?"

"Don't be so literal. I know you know what I mean. You're even free to yell, if that makes you feel better."

"I don't want to yell at you."

"Yell in general, then." Martel swept an arm out to indicate the war-torn landscape around them. "Yell out there, if you need to. I'm just letting you know that you can."

Yuan bit his lip, not quite meeting her eyes. Finally, he spoke. "…How did I not see it? Zaren. Why was he _so far_ into my blind spot?"

"He was in all of our blind spots. And—I think it's also because…well, he didn't lie to us. Well," she amended, seeing him about to protest. "He did, of course, but—he did always hate the humans. He did escape the ranch, he loved Viren and his wife and he _was_ passionate about fighting the humans."

"But?"

"But he was so scared of going back to the ranch that he did anything he could to stay out of it. Even if it meant hurting us. His fear was stronger than anything else, at the end."

"We were still so _stupid_. I should've seen it—I've known him the longest—"

Martel cut him off. "Hey, stop. It's not your fault." When he didn't respond, she took his chin, tilting it up so he had to meet her eyes. "Listen to me: It's. Not. Your fault. There was nothing you could've done to stop him. Do you understand me?"

"…yeah. And-and I know that, logically. But it's just…I'm still trying to believe it. And what do I tell his wife and his kid?" _(The wife and kid that are now in the city. The wife and kid that he has never even_ met)

"To be honest," she began thoughtfully. "I don't even know that I would want to hear the truth in that situation."

"But at the same time, if that kid grows up believing his dad's a hero, someday he'll learn the truth. And nobody deserves to be hurt like that."

He had a point. "…I'm sorry. I-I don't have any answers for you." She smiled, though it was tinged with bitterness and self-deprecation. "I seem to be saying that a lot lately."

Yuan leaned forward to kiss away that smile; it didn't belong on her face. "You don't have to have all the answers. That's not your job. "

"Then what is? Being a Healer? I fixed you and Kratos up, but you're still hurting. Or being a sister? My little brother is growing up before my eyes." She lowered her gaze to their joined hands. "…I'm afraid he won't need me anymore."

_(She knows, logically, that Mithos has to grow up. And that he will grow apart from her. This is something all parents understand. But she is a sister as well as a mother to him and she doesn't know how to separate the two, can't even imagine a life without him in it)_

She was a little surprised to hear a trickle of a laugh, particularly from Yuan, since he'd been so serious since the capital. But the sound triggered a little bit of anger in her; she hadn't laughed at him! Yuan seemed to realize that laughing was the wrong response; he rubbed his thumbs soothingly over her skin.

"I didn't mean it like that," Yuan assured her. "It's just—Mithos loves you more than anything or anyone in the world. He won't ever stop needing you. Even when he grows up. Just like you said Kratos and I are a fact of life? So are you two."

This time, Martel's smile was sweeter, happier. "Would you look at that? You really do listen when I talk."

That made Yuan burst into laughter _(It sounds strange because she hasn't heard it in so long. It gives her hope, lets her know that everything will work out in the end. If it's not all right, she thinks, then it's not the end)_ His hands moved to her hips, tugging her forward until she landed practically in his lap. His nose was just beneath her ear, his breath warm against her skin.

"I love you." The laughter was still on the fringes of his voice. "You're amazing and I love you."

She backed away a little so she could kiss him firmly. "I love you too," she murmured between kisses.

* * *

Viren found him standing several feet away from the tent. It wasn't a surprise, really. Yuan was the honorable sort _(the kind that Viren had thought that Zaren was. Is. He has to believe that Zaren is still alive out there, that he still has a hope of redemption)_. Of course he'd be out here, at his sister-in-law's door.

"Are you alright?" Viren asked quietly. Yuan looked better than he had when he and Kratos had reported in. Like he'd actually managed a few hours of sleep and had a decent meal or two.

Yuan swallowed a little, glancing at him. "…That's my nephew and my sister-in-law in there."

"You don't owe them anything." Viren was sure to be gentle with that. While he looked more stable, Yuan could have a very mercurial temper. "You've never even met them."

"No, but…that woman deserves someone there," Yuan said slowly, remembering his own mother, raising two boys alone, her husband and oldest sons dead. Remembered her, broken and so lonely. Remembered he and Zaren growing up with a dead father and an absent mother. Remembered the rare good days and so many of the bad ones. "And so does the kid. I won't let them grow up like we did."

Viren gave him a long look. "…Very noble of you." _(In Yuan, he can see what he had thought was in Zaren. A good man. A family man)_ "So why are you still out here?"

"Cause I'm—" A coward? Like he had accused Zaren of being? "Waiting to be done talking to you."

A breath escaped Viren, the closest he could get to a laugh right now. "Go on then. I need a drink."

"Getting a headstart on me, I see."

"Yeah, sure, kid."

* * *

The woman sitting inside was a pale wisp of a thing. Ashy blonde hair with skin that was beginning to regain its color, though it still clung too tightly to her bones. It was difficult to put healthy weight back on when rations were spreading thinner every day. There was a little body curled underneath a thin blanket in a cot. The only thing visible was a head of ruffled brown hair.

"Who are you?" the woman asked, her voice still holding the remnants of tears.

Yuan licked his lips. "…my name is Yuan. Zaren was—he was my brother."

"Oh, you're his little brother?" Her lips twitched in an effort to smile. "He told me about you."

A lump formed in his throat, but Yuan forced himself to talk around it. "I-I just—I wanted you to know that if you need anything, anything at all, just let me know. I'll help you. And if-if I'm not around, talk to Kratos or Martel or Mithos. They'll help too."

He saw the tears welling up in her eyes. "Thank you. Oh, boyo, you're—come here."

Yuan followed the instruction dimly and found himself engulfed in a bony embrace. He'd been hugged since the capital—mostly by Martel—but this was significantly different. _(It feels like his fuzzy memories of Mama, of her good days and it's that fact that has him folding around this little woman)_

He didn't cry. To be honest, Yuan didn't think he had many tears left, but he let himself grieve for this woman, for her little boy—his _nephew_ —and for himself too. Because as much as they weren't close anymore, as many lies and years and experiences separated them, Zaren was still—and perhaps would always be—the brother of his childhood. The brother who had played cards with him, had weathered storms with him, who had helped him through Mama's bad days. It was that Zaren that Yuan missed and that Zaren which was gone forever.

A little tug on his shirt made him look down. The boy had watery blue eyes, but he looked like his father had at that age. _(Just like the photographs that have always been on that wall. Sometimes, in his more morbid moments, he wonders if he were to go back to his little mountain village, would that wall, with all the photographs and newspaper clippings, still stand?)_

Yuan sniffed a little, crouching to be at eye level with the kid. "Hey. What's your name?"

The kid struggled with the sounds. Finally, his mother stepped in. "Matthew."

Yuan blinked; that was no elven name. Pure human. Possibly in the hopes that the boy would carry on with his father's genes and look human enough to pass. "Matthew, huh?"

The kid— _Matthew_ —grinned wide, missing a few teeth. "Uh-huh!"

He managed a smile at his nephew. "Nice to meet you, Matthew. I'm your uncle Yuan."

"Unka!" Matthew lifted his arms, the universal symbol to be picked up.

Yuan hoisted him him—he hardly weighed anything—and held him close. Curious hands grabbed his hair—it wasn't an uncommon occurrence—and he just held this little kid whose father had abandoned him.

* * *

That night, Yuan curled up beside Martel. She turned a little to try and see him, but he had his nose buried in her shoulder.

"Hey," she murmured. "What's wrong? How'd it go?"

Yuan didn't answer for long moments, taking comfort in her warm body pressed against his. "…Have you ever been so hurt that you start to go numb?"

Martel turned over in his arms so that she could face him. "…Yeah." _(Holding her little brother and watching the village that had seen them grow up turn on them)_

"Does it ever get any better?"

She combed his hair away from his face, brushing her lips against his forehead, his eyes, his cheek and finally his lips. She appreciated that he didn't press her for details. "Sometimes. But a lot of other times, I think that there's nothing for it. You just have to learn to live with it. You have to _decide_ to live past it."

Yuan stared at her. How had a woman so wise ever fallen for him? "…Did you?"

She made a noise in her throat. "…I like to think so. Sometimes though, I'm not sure I have."

"That's…incredibly unhelpful."

Martel burst out a short laugh. Yuan found himself joining in. The laughter was gentle, hardly there and staccato, but it made him feel lighter. Just being with her made him feel lighter. He kissed her, searching for the laughter caught inside her.

* * *

Several nights later, Yuan woke to the sound of rustling blankets. He cracked his eyes open, peering through his lashes into the darkness. He could make out Kratos' shape, a darker silhouette than his surroundings. Yuan debated getting up—it was perfectly likely, after all, that Kratos just needed to relieve himself—but then he saw Noise rise from his spot by the door to follow Kratos outside and he knew he didn't have to worry. He would anyway, but it was comforting to know that someone, at least, was keeping an eye on him.

* * *

"You don't need to follow me," Kratos told the protozoan quietly.

Noishe gave him a disbelieving look and kept following. Sometimes, it was difficult to believe he only had a bird's form, he was so expressive.

"I'm fine!" Kratos insisted, but stopped trying to persuade Noishe. The protozoan was stubborn. It wasn't as though he was lying. He _was_ fine. Just restless.

Did killing his father make him the same? His father and the other generals were also acting as judge, jury and executioner to all the half-elves. What gave him the right to decide?

Well, Kratos reasoned as his feet took him towards the refugee camps on the outskirts of the city, it's not as if the outcome would have changed. If they'd somehow managed to get Sandor to the half-elven kind, he'd still be found guilty. Would still have been sentenced to death.

Kratos had to climb and clamber to his space. The room he had found in the semi-collapsed building, the room where he had so clearly envisioned a school in was where he came to think sometimes, away from the others. _(He loves them, he really does, but he is sometimes still that little boy who is more comfortable being alone)_

He let himself plop down against one of the walls that was still intact. Noishe settled down beside him, folding his wings and curling his long neck inwards.

I am not the same, Kratos told himself firmly. He was entirely different from his father.

But had he not become precisely what his father had always wanted from him? A soldier, a killing machine? A warrior without morals?

No. He had morals. He cared about people. He was not heartless.

But didn't he have to be even a little heartless to kill his own father like that? _(Where has he gotten so turned around? When had he stopped creating, only destroying?)_

Kratos surged to his feet, feeling the need to _move_ , to _make_. He could feel Noishe's eyes on him as he began lifting beams and shoving aside slabs of wall. Noishe finally helped him when he realized that Kratos wasn't going insane. The protozoan was stronger than he looked and Kratos was grateful for the help.

He used magic to create support for the walls to stand by themselves again. He was particularly good at earth magic—though he had yet to be able to really get a decent Grave spell going—and while it took a lot of mana, after a few hours, the space had been cleared so that it was actually looking like a real building again.

Noishe nudged his elbow. Kratos followed the protozoan's gaze; his hands were scraped and cut in a few places. Nothing terribly serious. He felt calmer now, more secure. _(He is not a product of his father's beliefs. He can make his own choices, live a life free from his shadow. He will create something for himself, create a place for learning)_

Noishe was still watching him, wary and a little too close, neck bent so he could peer up at Kratos. Kratos leaned forward to press his forehead against Noishe's beak. Noishe was his oldest friend, before Yuan even. And he was lucky to have him.

* * *

"You've been pulling quite the disappearing act lately."

Kratos nearly gave himself whiplash at the familiar voice. The old blacksmith rarely left his smithy; to see him here, as Kratos was walking back to his and Yuan's room, was disorienting. But he was carrying several buckets of water on a rod over his strong shoulders. New water for the new day, Kratos noted as he caught the pink edges of dawn creeping their way into the sky.

"What?"

"Come down to the smithy later," the blacksmith said. Blunt as ever. "All four of ye."

"That's it?" Kratos called after him. He'd started walking away right after saying that.

The blacksmith looked over his shoulder. "Way I been hearin' it, you ain't one for conversation, these days."

Meaning one of the others had gone to look for him there. Meaning that he'd worried them. He'd probably _been_ worrying them since the capital.

Kratos tried on a smile. It probably came out more like a grimace. "Next time you see me, I'll be more of a conversationalist."

The blacksmith made a sound low in his throat—a _harrumph_ —and kept walking.

* * *

He found Martel first. Not surprising. It was almost dawn, so her shift at the clinic was starting soon. She'd bathed not long ago, judging from her still-wet braid.

She stopped at the sight of him, a smile on her face. "Kratos! How are you?"

It struck him then that it had been a long time since he'd seen her. Days, perhaps. Everything was blended together in his mind; how long had it been since they'd even arrived back here? "I-I'm sorry."

She blinked at him. "What for?"

"For making you guys worry. For shutting you out. I'm sorry." The words came out in a rush; the most he'd said to her in weeks.

Martel's arms were suddenly around him, still cool from the bathwater. "It's okay," she murmured, holding him close. "It's okay." _(When her boys are weak, it means someone else has to be strong. Martel doesn't mind being that person. She likes knowing that she can help, even if only in this small way)_

He buried his nose in her damp hair, suddenly greedy for the comfort as he hugged her back. If he cried a little, Martel would certainly never tell. _(He does cry. He cries for the little boy he'd been, the little boy who is still there who had lost his father. He cries for the people who've been hurt. And he cries for Yuan, losing his brother all over again)_

Kratos finally pulled back, hiding his red eyes behind his bangs. Martel didn't mention anything, simply linking her arm through his. "Join me for breakfast?"

Kratos nodded. He'd missed his family.

* * *

Breakfast was a wonderful affair. The mess hall wasn't busy this time of morning—not as busy as it could be—and people were still not fully awake so it wasn't as loud. But Kratos absorbed what noise there was, letting it wash over him. Yuan was at his side, a comforting warmth. Mithos' legs accidentally kicked his as he shifted. The kid was going to be elf-tall when he was full grown, according to Alstan. Martel laughed and joked with some of the others eating with them, but during the lulls, she would smile comfortingly over to him.

The food tasted right for the first time in a long time and he was in good company. At some point, Viren slid in to sit beside him.

"Hey," Kratos greeted. "How-how are you?" His voice still caught on words, his throat still dry sometimes from not speaking for so long.

If Viren was surprised to hear him, he didn't make any motion of it. "I'm managing. You?"

"Same." Kratos poked some tomatoes in his direction. "Want these?"

Without a word, Viren took them. After that, he slid some potatoes from his plate to Kratos'. "Lost my appetite for them today," he said shortly.

Kratos thanked him and they spent most of the rest of the meal in comfortable silence. Apparently, Kratos wasn't the only one in need of noise and companionship.

* * *

That afternoon, once they'd finished lunch, the four of them went to the smithy. "Hello," Kratos greeted. He wasn't surprised to get no reply.

"With the trouble y'all get into, can't be havin' normal weapons. I made some for all of you," the blacksmith said, uncovering several objects laying on some worktables.

Kratos stared at the sword being presented to him. It was handsome, the steel smooth enough to look like glass. It was stained a powerful crimson—like flames, not blood—its edges tinged in warm orange and gold. The hilt curved over the hand in a smooth, simple design. "I-I can't accept this. It's too much!"

There were the beginnings of similar protest from Yuan, who was running his hands up and down a double-headed spear, blades decorated in streaks of robin red, traced in canary yellow. Its blades were long and arching, the edges glinting in the afternoon light.

"Ye don't get a choice. These are yours. My gifts to ye. The steel is triple-folded and Aionis-fired. Gives it properties. Never dulls or rusts. In a dwarven village, such gifts are given to great warriors. Ye've earned them."

"A flute?" Martel said, tracing her fingers across the beading. The pipes were inscribed with runes, but she couldn't recognize which ones. Not elven or common, that was for sure.

The blacksmith nodded. "Aye. My village was high in the mountains. We traded often with the dwarves. There were trees that grew up there who sang when the wind blew. The dwarves taught us to make instruments from them. That one's imbued with summoning artes. It can summon the Spirits to you, should you need them."

Martel put a hand to her lips. "Oh my, that's…"

"You can summon?" Mithos asked.

"No. My grandmama could, but I don't got that much talent. Little things like this is all." The blacksmith nodded to the purple bracelets that Mithos held. "No point in making a sword for you. Ye'd only grow out of it at this rate. Those're for your magic. I don't got much of it myself, but I've carved some spells into 'em. One'll conserve yer mana. Summoners use up a lot; that'll help you keep going on the battlefield. That middle one's got a barrier spell in there. Help keep you safe. And that last one's got a preservation spell in there, so the effects don't fade."

"Wow," Mithos said, running his fingers across the runes, feeling how smoothly they were carved in. "Thank you."

"Why?" Yuan asked. "Why do this for us?"

"The way I figure it, you lot are the best chance we got. Thought I'd give ye the best odds."

Kratos stared down at his sword. The old blacksmith must have been slaving away at these for months, maybe even longer. He'd been believing in them this long? "Thank you," Kratos told him. "We'll honor these."

* * *

Yuan and Kratos took to training with their new weapons, to get used to the balance and length of them. Yuan had already liked using spears and he could use a sword, but the new double-headed spear was a wonderful mix of both. A sword's edges with the spear's arching movements.

Kratos had never had a sword that fit his hand better or that was more perfectly weighted. It was a hand and a half, so he could still swing with both hands for more power, but most of the time, he would use it one-handed, leaving the other free to deflect or cast a spell. Alstan had suggested a small shield, so he could defend better and still have the mobility. It didn't sound like such a bad idea.

"Have you tried channeling the magic through the sword?" Yuan suggested once after training. "Seems like it'd be more efficient."

Kratos frowned thoughtfully. Yuan was right and the idea did seem sound. After all, wasn't a sword just the extension of the arm? To pass mana past his fingers into the sword to shoot outwards didn't seem entirely absurd. He pushed himself back up to his feet from where they'd been resting.

He pointed the sword, forcing his left hand to stay down. "Wind Blade!"

He hissed a second later, instinct the only thing keeping him from dropping his sword altogether. The back of his sword hand was cut up from the spell. Yuan was on his feet, studying him.

"I think you released it too soon," Yuan said. "I mean, let the mana finish transferring. That's the only thing I can think of."

Kratos cast a First Aid on himself. It was a basic spell, but one that more soldiers were learning. That way, it would help the Healers conserve their mana for the life-threatening things or at least keep the soldiers alive until Healers could get to them.

"Wind Blade!"

A little better this time. Kratos had lessened the strength of the spell so he wouldn't cut himself all over again. But it was further from the center of his hand, affecting only the middle knuckles this time.

But after a spar like that—because his and Yuan's spars were always intense—he didn't have much energy left. If he kept on using magic, he was likely to pass out. He would try this tomorrow, Kratos decided. And the next day, until he got it right.

* * *

Kratos knocked before entering the room, though it was unnecessary. "Hello, Abernac."

Abernac turned to face him. The ex-guard looked a little thinner, but then, didn't they all? They allowed him a razor, at least, so he had kept himself clean-shaven. "Quite the show you put on." When Kratos gave him a confused look, Abernac nodded towards the window he'd been looking out of. "The fight with Yuan. Your higher-ups were kind enough to give me a cell with a view."

"It's not permanent," Kratos told him, taking a seat on a stool. "There's a general that's on his way back with some troops and it's his decision what happens to you."

"That doesn't sound comforting."

"It's not, really." Kratos could have a very blunt kind of honesty, Abernac was learning. And he rather appreciated it. "General Lyrion is a prejudiced man. Like most of the world."

"So this is death row, essentially?"

"No." Abernac was surprised at the firmness of Kratos' tone. "I won't let them kill you. You've done nothing to deserve it. Hell, you deserve the exact opposite. But after what happened with—Zaren, they're being more cautious."

Abernac made a noise of understanding. "I'm surprised to hear you speaking, frankly."

"Yeah, well, I got some sense knocked into me. Just took a little while to see it." Kratos leaned his forearms on his knees. "They haven't let you send messages, I assume?"

"Of course not."

"Is there anything you want me to send to your wife?"

"If she saw a letter from the half-elven camp—"

"I think the first reaction would be shock," Kratos said. "Most of them still can't read. Or write."

"After the shock, then, she'd probably not trust a word in it."

"Is there anything I can tell her that she'll know can only come from you? A code word or something?"

Abernac shook his head, running a hand through his hair. It had been growing out from its military-shortness in the time since the capital. It felt strange; he hadn't had hair this long since before the military academy. "No. Not since I was discharged." He smiled, wry and bitter. "Prison guards tend to have a safer life than soldiers."

"And before you were discharged?"

Abernac seemed to be about to say something, but changed his mind quickly. "No. It'll only put her in danger. At worst, I'm a traitor now, but that's an individual choice. It won't affect her much. But if she receives messages from this camp—"

"Then she's a traitor too," Kratos finished. "Makes sense."

"Is there any way you can get them free? Get them here?"

Kratos narrowed his eyes, studying him. "Strange that you're not asking to be released so you can go back to them."

Abernac hunched his shoulders defensively, feeling strangely small with those piercing eyes on him. Kratos had a way of looking at people as if he already knew everything about them; he was just too polite or reserved to say anything about it. "…This place feels different than back home," he said finally.

He waited for Kratos to ask him why, to look at him like that fact was obvious. But he did none of those things. Kratos simply sat on that stool, with all his seemingly infinite patience, and didn't push. Just waited for Abernac to find the words. _(Kratos knows all too well how difficult words can be to find. So he knows what to look for in others and knows that if he asks, if he interrupts that train of thought, the words get stuck and there's a very good chance they don't get un-stuck)_

"The half-br— _people_ ," Abernac corrected himself. Kratos wouldn't judge him for it—after all, he'd been raised the same way—but the other half-elves would if he called them half-breeds. He needed to make a good impression. "They don't seem as angry as humans."

"They're plenty angry," Kratos said, playing with a loose thread on his sleeve. "But I understand what you're saying. It's—" He paused, trying to find a way to phrase it. "It's been a long time coming," he settled on.

"Is it because of you and Yuan? And the Yggdrasills?" Abernac had never seen anything like it. Had anyone told him that half-elves and humans could be so close, he would have volunteered to put a straitjacket on them. But those four were so close. Even with Kratos and Yuan so…affected…by what had happened in the capitol, there had been a connection. He'd seen them, fighting that Spirit _(And if that isn't a kick in the teeth. Spirits are actually a thing)_ and they communicated without speaking, hardly even looking at each other half the time.

"Part of it. They still don't trust me, most of the time."

"But they have to trust you. Otherwise, they wouldn't let you near me."

"The people who've been here, in the capital, for a few years know me and they're more inclined to trust me, but—I want to say about ninety percent of the people here—they still think I'm the monster from their bedtime stories that'll eat their children."

"Is that really what they think of us?"

Kratos arched a brow. "And what do humans think of half-elves? Our history books paint them as savages, barbarians who are invading our lands because they're uncivilized. That they'll steal our children in the night and slaughter our families."

"Which isn't wrong," Abernac pointed out. "They've killed plenty of our people."

Abernac half-expected for that anger that he'd seen in Kratos at the prison, facing his father, to make an appearance, but all the other man did was shrug. "Sure. But we've done the same. And they're not savages. Just people trying to survive too. Humans just put out their propaganda, saying we were 'spreading the light of civilization' and whatnot." Kratos had begun to do some research into the origins of the war. There wasn't much, in the libraries. History books could only tell you so much. But it was how the history books said it and what differed that told him more than the actual facts. He and Yuan had spent a few nights studying them and debating over the possibilities.

_(It kind of creeps Abernac out that Kratos can be so calm. Where is all that rage from the prison? The fighter that he'd travelled with? This Kratos is a little too relaxed and it puts Abernac on edge)_

"I thought you'd be more upset about what I said," Abernac said finally. He was having problems figuring Kratos out and really, it was probably quicker just to be blunt about it.

"I could be," Kratos agreed. "But you're not trying to be rude. You're trying to understand. So there's no point in me being angry."

"You're like an old man."

That made Kratos chuckle a little. Abernac stared at him. He hadn't seen anything remotely happy on Aurion's face since the prison cell. He'd wondered if the man had become as war-hardened as other soldiers that Abernac had met.

Still smiling, Kratos explained, "You're not the first to tell me that." Kratos glanced out the window. "It's getting late. I should get going."

"Thank you," Abernac said as Kratos had his hand on the doorknob.

Kratos looked back over his shoulder. "What for?"

Abernac gestured a little. "For saving my life. For not forgetting about me once you got back here. Take your pick."

Kratos seemed to shrink a little and for a second, Abernac saw the kid at the Academy. "Well, you're welcome."

* * *

Kratos sat in shade of his building, as he had come to think of it. His future classroom. He'd cleared the path so that it was more accessible and the inside had been cleared of debris. With some help from Mithos, he'd been able to make the roof supports sturdier.

One of the refugees was a carpenter and Kratos had talked to him about creating benches and desks. The carpenter had thought the idea was strange, but a good one. He'd been teaching Kratos to do it, teaching him where pieces went and which wood had which properties. Not that they could afford to be picky.

Kratos had created a few crude benches—they wobbled a little, slightly off balance, but they were serviceable. The carpenter—Donovi, was his name—was working on his second desk. It had taken some sketches and a lot of miscommunications before they'd managed to agree on what the desks should look like.

_(This makes him feel infinitely better. His hands are not just for destroying. He is creating things, things that are of use to people)_

Yuan had come down a few times, either to help or to see the progress. He always grinned when he saw it, wide and proud. "This suits you, y'know," he'd said when Kratos explained the idea to him. "And this is gonna be so great for everyone."

Kratos had ducked his head, a little embarrassed at so much praise, but Yuan had just grinned a little wider and asked what he could help with.

Now, it had been more than two weeks since then and Donovi had gotten a glassblower to make some windows for the classroom. And a lot of the women had come with their children. "To help clean," they said. "This is for all of us, so we should all help."

Kratos had stood there, stunned as they moved past him with brooms and buckets and scrub brushes. Martel had come by that day to have lunch with him and she'd been shocked too, nearly dropping her basket.

But she came to her senses first, leaning up to kiss Kratos' cheek. "You see?" she said when he looked at her. "Look at this, Kratos. Look at what you've done for them." Martel smiled, wide and proud. "You've given them hope again."

* * *

Kratos kept coming back for Abernac, usually in the late afternoon, as the sun sent. He would sit and talk with him for a while, asking him how he was being treated, if there was anything he could get him. Sometimes, Yuan or Mithos came with him. If Mithos came, he usually kept quiet, just listening and occasionally commenting on part of the story.

Yuan was, as ever, excellent at getting a rise from people. His and Abernac's arguments got explosive and had startled the guards at the door more than once. But by the end of it, Yuan will give that rueful grin, low and long, because he liked to mess with people and Abernac was just too responsive to pass up.

"I may have been wrong," Kratos admitted one night.

"About what?"

"About the percentage of half-elves and what they think of us. Or maybe just me, I don't know." Kratos went on to explain what he'd been doing, with the classroom.

Abernac stayed silent through the entire explanation. "…You're teaching more of them?" Kratos went still at the words, but forced himself not to react, to let Abernac finish his thoughts. "I mean, you taught Yuan, right? And you still want to teach more?"

"They have the right to learn. To grow. To become more than they are."

He'd struck a nerve, Abernac could tell. "I mean, are you sure they're even capable of learning? Maybe Yuan was just the exception."

" _They're not dumb savages._ "

"O-of course not." He'd seen differently, hadn't he? But all he could remember was all of the things his teachers had ever said to him about the half-bre—half-elves.

A knock interrupted them, a split second before Viren entered the room. He'd lost weight, Kratos noted immediately. Not enough to be unhealthy, but he picked at his food more often than not and there were dark shadows forming beneath his eyes. Zaren's betrayal had hit him hard.

"Lyrion's here," he said, though his words were more directed at Kratos. "He wants to see both of you."

"What about the others? Has he asked to see them?" Kratos asked, getting to his feet. His anger at Abernac's words still simmered beneath the surface and he knew that this was not the best way to go speak to Lyrion, but there was no time to cool off.

"Not yet. I think it's his way of remaining impartial."

"Like that'll ever happen," Kratos muttered. He held the door open for Abernac to follow him. He was surprised at the lack of extra guards outside. "Are we his guards now?"

"Lyrion thought we would be enough if he tried to escape."

"He's not wrong."

Abernac had to agree. He had never seen the other man fight, but he'd seen Kratos spar and he knew that even though it might be a good fight, Kratos would definitely beat him. Especially with his bad leg. Maybe before his injury, he could have taken him, but now, there was no chance.

Viren turned to Abernac and held a hand out. "We haven't been introduced. My name is Viren."

Abernac's instincts were to not even dignify Viren with a handshake, but that would be disrespectful to a man who hadn't shown him any. So he shook his hand. "Abernac Michelson."

The rest of the walk to Lyrion's office was in silence. Viren knocked twice, curtly, before entering. Abernac wondered what kind of position Viren held to be able to just enter a general's office like that.

Viren saluted before standing at ease. _(Abernac wonders how both militaries can overlap like that. Their standing positions are the same. Perhaps human parents had passed it down?)_ "General Lyrion, I've brought the suspect, Abernac Michelson, here for questioning." Viren then moved aside to stand against the wall, watching everything with sharp eyes.

Lyrion's eyes studied Abernac before going to Kratos. "I'll hear your statement first. Explain the situation at the capital to me."

Kratos stood at attention unconsciously as soon as he was spoken to. "Sir, the four of us went to the capitol to propose a peace treaty with the human king. As we would not have gotten through the front door without being attacked, Martel and Mithos posed as elven bounty hunters with myself as their prisoner. Yuan stayed in disguise, outside the castle. Should the need have arisen, he would have broken us out.

"The human king refused our terms. He ordered us to be captured and killed. We managed to escape into the city. We were found by a rebel group that is in the capital, opposing the war. They're small, but they gave us shelter from the soldiers. They also knew of a tunnel network below the city and were leading us through it when we were ambushed. In the fighting, we were separated from them.

"General Aurion led his troops to the exit of the tunnels and ambushed us with a paralyzing agent. We were knocked unconscious and taken to the prison. We were in separate cells in separate halls from each other. The paralyzing agent took several hours to wear off and we were due for executions in the morning. The king and his generals wanted an example to be made of us.

"Mr. Michelson was our prison guard. I recognized him from military school. I managed to persuade him to let us go and help us get out. When we went to release Yuan from his cell, Zaren was in the cell opposite him. Zaren's cell was unlocked already; he could leave at any time. Yuan told us to lock him in there and leave him. That he was a traitor." Kratos' fists clenched. "Zaren didn't deny it.

"Martel and Mithos were in bad shape. The prison had a great deal of magitechnology in there and it had made them sick. Mr. Michelson was leading us to the exit when General Aurion found us." Kratos had to clear his throat, trying to gather words and thoughts and make them make sense. "I—I volunteered to stay behind and fight General Aurion to give the others time to escape. I ki—killed the General and left to catch up with the others. Noishe found me and took me to them."

Lyrion stayed quiet for long moments more, processing the information. "The humans will twist this into an assassination, that the peace treaty was only a ruse. You've made an already difficult task nearly impossible."

Kratos lifted his chin a little. "It couldn't be avoided. General Aurion was a threat not only to ourselves, but all half-elves. He was a believer; nothing we could have said or done would have changed his mind and he was a dangerous opponent."

_(Lyrion doesn't quite know what to say to that. Kratos seems unrepentant about his actions, which is new. The boy isn't fond of killing)_

"What's done is done," Viren said, voice low. "Aurion's dead. We have to deal with the consequences, whatever they may be, but that's not why we're here."

It was only years of military training that kept Abernac from shifting underneath Lyrion's gaze. "You're not wrong, General."

General? Abernac's eyes flicked to Viren. He was a General? He looked a little too young, but maybe it was his elf blood?

"We've already been betrayed once," Lyrion began. "Why should we begin to trust you?"

It took a moment for Abernac to register that he was being spoken to. The way the words had come out of Lyrion's mouth, he could have been chewing sand and referring to the dirt on the floor. "Because I didn't have an army following me? I don't want to hurt people. I just want my wife and kid."

"Your word is worth next to nothing."

"What about mine?" Kratos asked, pitching his voice a little to catch Lyrion's attention.

The General arched a brow. "You're vouching for this man?"

"Yes, I am. He saved us, all of us. If it weren't for him, we would have been hung from the city walls and Zaren would have come back to continue feeding the humans information." Kratos caught the way that Viren's jaw tightened and his shoulders hunched at the name of his best friend.

"And how do we know that he's not a spy too?"

"Because if he was, he would have stopped me from killing General Aurion. The man was a valuable piece for the humans." Kratos glanced at Abernac. "And because I trust him. He could've played it safe and left us to rot, but he didn't."

"Your are too quick to put your trust in people."

"We can't allow Zaren's betrayal to hurt people who haven't done a thing to deserve it. He's done no more than I had when I came to the capitol—saved a half-elf and was in the human military. It's the same list of crimes." Kratos looked between Viren and Lyrion. "And you gave me a chance. Give him one too."

"That decision had already been made when we came to the capital. If it were up to me, I wouldn't have allowed you to stay," Lyrion said.

"Then trust Myra and Alstan's judgment! He's done _nothing_ to earn this suspicion. Are we to kill innocent people now?" _(…And you're going to play judge, jury and executioner?)_

"…He's right, Lyrion," Viren said, voice tired. "We're treating him like this because he's human. If it had been a half-elf, they'd probably be free by now. Humans aren't automatically guilty until proven innocent. It should be the other way around."

There was a long moment until Lyrion spoke. "…You know the human's strategies, yes?"

"As of six months ago, I did." Abernac shifted the weight off his bad leg subconsciously.

"Mm. That's more recent than the rest of our knowledge." Lyrion's eyes slid to Kratos, who just shrugged. There wasn't a whole lot to say to that. The General was right. His knowledge about the human military was over ten years old, but it was better than working with no knowledge at all. Six months ago was pretty damn recent. "I will allow you to stay here, in the capital, as an informant. Should any suspicions arise about you, this conversation will be revisited. Is that clear?"

"Yessir."

"The both of you are dismissed."

Kratos and Abernac both saluted, automatically, but Kratos' wasn't quite as sharp, just lazy enough to skirt the line of disrespectful. After they both left the room, Abernac held his hand out. Confused, Kratos shook his hand anyway.

"Thank you," Abernac said sincerely. "You didn't have to say all those things, but you did anyway. I owe you for that."

"You've been thanking me a lot lately."

"You've done a lot to help me."

"No. Just...call it even for getting us out of those cells."

"Fair enough." _(His wife and daughter aren't here and that hurts, but he knows he can't really fix that right now. They're safe as they can be back home though and he has to be content with that)_ "I don't know what I should do now. I can't go on the battlefield."

"And we wouldn't let you. Too much chaos out there; we wouldn't be able to keep track of you. But there's plenty of refugees that could use training." Kratos stuck his hands in his pockets. "You may not be able to fight anymore, but you can teach them how."

The idea wasn't a bad one. "Never thought I'd be a teacher."

Kratos laughed a little then. "Neither did I."


	66. Calm Before the Storm

_"Do not pray for an easy life. Pray for the strength to endure a difficult one."  
-Bruce Lee_

* * *

Myra finished wrapping bandages around the man's leg. A deflected strike that hadn't killed him, but had gotten him in the thigh. With so many refugees, they had more skilled workers in the capitol. More blacksmiths, so they could actually double as armorers. It was a slow process, but soldiers were more protected when they went out there now, so the injuries had been less.

Well, minus the times that the humans used that Cannon of theirs. Thor's Hammer, people were calling it, after a hero from old human stories. It was horribly destructive, ripping through the landscape for miles across. Myra had seen plenty of patients lose limbs to the Cannon, if they were lucky.

She stood, gathering the old bandages to throw them out and was surprised to see Alstan sitting on the porch. They hadn't spoken outside of a professional manner since their conversation in her room—a conversation that she still hadn't quite forgiven him for. Sighing, she tossed the bandages into their box of garbage before going to stand on the porch.

"What is it?" Myra asked shortly, folding her arms across her chest.

"I came to say a few things."

"Then say them and be done with you. I'm busy."

Alstan glanced inside the clinic. Decently quiet, except for the occasional groans of pain as people moved the wrong way. "Yes, I can see that. First off, I wanted to apologize. For what I said earlier and for what I'm about to say. I shouldn't bring it up, but I need to say it."

Her muscles tightened, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Then you should keep your mouth shut and go back to…whatever you were doing."

Alstan ignored her. "Do you remember the first time we met?"

That threw her off guard. "What?"

He repeated the question.

"Yes? It was at the university in Heimdall. I had just finished a course and I was celebrating with—" With her husband, though he was her fiancée at the time. "You spilled a drink on me."

"Yeah." It had been a long time ago. He'd been finishing up his degree in Magical Warfare, preparing to go with the elven armies in keeping their borders in check because the war was getting very close to them. He could join as a strategist, so he was still involved, but off the front lines. That had been his plan at the time, anyway.

"You were…pretty drunk at the time. So when I told you to apologize, you didn't and the two of you got in a fight. You won."

Alstan's lips curved a little in a remembering smile. "…Yeah. Callisto could never fight worth a damn. Do you remember that one winter—"

"Where we were snowed in?" Myra moved to sit beside him, just outside of arms' reach. She wrapped herself around her knees. "And you almost set us on fire because your warming spell went wrong?"

"That _was_ me, wasn't it?"

"Mmhm."

"And Cal had the bright idea to try and go outside once the storm was over?"

Myra hummed in her throat. "We found him passed out in the snow. We thought he was dead and when we managed to warm him up, the first thing he asked was where the hot chocolate was."

"Cal was a piece of work, that's for sure." Alstan folded and unfolded his hands together. "…I was surprised. When he asked me to be the best man." Myra stayed silent, listening. "I thought—surely we're not that close. We had only met, what, a year or so ago? There had to be other people, people better qualified. But…he was always like that. Drawing people to him. He was easy to love."

Alstan looked over to Myra, who was resolutely looking at her knees. She looked younger like this, more like the young woman from his memories. "I know you don't remember—you had it so much worse than I did—but after Cal died, I kind of…fell apart a little. I didn't know what to do and all I could remember was watching from the wagon as the bombs fell. And then I found you. All I could picture was Cal, in that fire. Underneath that building."

Her fists clenched. "Shut up."

"No, listen to me, Myra. For years, that's all I could remember of him. Was his body. Was who he'd left behind. But I got so damn _tired_. I got so tired of remembering it that way. Cal was a great man. A good father, a good husband, my best friend. How could I remember him so badly?" He paused. "I needed to learn to forgive. And so do you."

Her eyes flashed. "I don't need to forgive Cal. He was—" Wonderful. Her partner, her husband, her lover, her confidant. Everything.

"Not Cal. You need to forgive yourself. Forgive yourself for not making it in time, for not knowing enough to save them. Stop punishing yourself like this." He reached out, slowly, and took one of her hands, dry and calloused. "Forgiving's not easy. It'll hurt. It'll probably hurt worse than losing him did, but please, do it. Life's too harsh a sentence to punish yourself with."

Myra took her hand back and, without a word, walked away.

* * *

"Yuan?"

The half-elf glanced up across the table where Kratos was playing with his soup. "Hm?"

"Were you ever taught…anything? About your history?"

"I was taught the same things you were, remember? We were both there." Granted, his education had come from Kratos' textbooks and notes, but the point still stood.

Kratos shook his head. "No. Not human history. _Yours_. Half-elves'."

Yuan set down his spoon. "What are you talking about?"

"We know human history is flawed and propagandist. They've had humans believing that we're the superior species for centuries because of those lies. Half-elves are portrayed as…savage and barbaric and the only reason the war is happening is because when the humans went to half-elven lands to 'spread the light of civilization', the half-elves refused and fought back. But I've never heard of any half-elven version of history. I've heard your stories, but that's not quite it."

Yuan looked down at his soup, almost gone, the last dredges of tomato and broth that he'd traded Kratos his potatoes for clumping at the bottom. "I know we used to be more. More than what we are now. Back home there was—was this wall. A wall of newspaper clippings." Yuan had never told anyone about the Wall. About the photos, either. "We could never read it. Any of us, but the whole wall was covered with them. The photographs were all of the war, we knew that. And a lot of the times, they tried to collect the obituary pages, with the pictures of people they lost. Or articles where people were framed like heroes.

"Knowing what I know now," Yuan said slowly. "The newspapers were all old. Yellowed and faded. Worn thinner than tissue. There hasn't been a printing press in half-elven hands for Spirits knows how long. To be honest, I have no idea. All I've got is those stories."

* * *

Martel was surprised when Kratos found her at the herb garden that she'd begun right outside the clinic. It was easier than having to run to the fields outside the capital every time they needed more supplies. Not that all the herbs they needed could grow here; not enough sunlight, sometimes, or enough rain, but they could get enough that it made the job easier.

She was kneeling among the little sprouts, pulling weeds when he came and knelt a few feet away from her. She knew him well enough by now to know there was something on his mind. "What is it, Kratos?"

He began pulling weeds as well, leaving the pile in his lap. "This might be a…kind of a sensitive question," he warned.

Martel set her hands in her lap, wary, but allowing the question.

"What—what do you remember learning about history? You were taught it by the elves, right?"

The question surprised Martel, not only because of its content, but because of who was asking. Kratos tended to mind his own business; if people shared with him, he would listen, but he wouldn't usually go digging like this. _(The most surprising part is the way the question doesn't hurt like he'd thought it would, like she had been almost certain it would. Has she come far enough that thinking of Heimdall doesn't hurt?)_

"Um, yes. I—are you looking for a specific part of history?"

"I was thinking the other day that…that if I'm going to teach those kids, they should know their history. The real version, not the kind that the humans made up. And then I realized, I don't know your history. And—I asked Yuan, but…" He trailed off, not entirely sure if Yuan had told Martel about his wall of newspapers. It was harder, these days, to know what was Yuan-and-Kratos and what wasn't.

"Well, the elves have their own version, but the Storyteller…he records history as it is. It's tradition. The elves can teach what they will, but the Storyteller always has the truth."

_(A cynical part of Kratos wants to argue. How do you know that the Storyteller is actually telling the truth? But that's not helpful, so he shoves that voice back down)_

"What's the history you remember?"

"About the war? Not much. The elves…they like to pretend it's not happening. That it doesn't affect them. It wasn't like that at the beginning though. When the humans bombed one of our cities, the elves retaliated." Martel's eyes stayed on the moist ground. It had rained last night. The squishy soil reminded her of Heimdall, of its swampy ground and humid air. "Apparently, the elves' retaliation was so terrible, the humans haven't attacked since."

Kratos hummed in thought. "There isn't much mention of the elves in human history either. It's like they have some…unspoken agreement. I know the retaliation you're talking about though. It's mentioned, in our history books. The Bowten Massacre, it's called." Martel arched an eyebrow at him for the name. Kratos just shrugged. "The way the humans tell it, the elves sent a great mage to attack with meteors. The town of Bowten doesn't even exist anymore. Just rubble and ash. There are two memorials for the people of Bowten; one where the town used to be and one in the capital somewhere. Supposedly, the humans managed to push the elves back into their lands so they wouldn't attack us again. And they haven't."

"Painting themselves as the victims to justify it?" Martel snorted. "That's not surprising." She shifted so she wasn't kneeling anymore; her knees hurt from being in that position for so long.

"They don't have any history of half-elves either, do they? The elves?"

Martel shook her head. "No. If they did, it was burned."

Kratos' eyebrows hit his hairline. "Burned?" He'd seen a lot of horrible things, but the thought of burning knowledge twisted something in his ribcage.

Her smile was a bitter, edgy thing that didn't belong on her face. _(Martel is so kind and so warm that she makes it very easy to forget that she's a child of war, a protective mother and sister who'd hidden from the elves in their own forest, who'd faced down monsters, both person-shaped and not. Kratos has no doubt that, if pushed, Martel will do almost anything for the people she loves)_ "They got around to believing we were abominations. Inferior beings. They wanted to erase us. So they burned our houses, our paintings. Our families, our stories. Anything that was half-elven in Heimdall, it's gone."

Kratos didn't know what to say. Apologies meant nothing; words couldn't heal what had been done to her, to them. "I don't want to apologize," he told her and he hoped she understood what she meant.

The strange smile slipped off her face. "You don't have to. None of that was your fault." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'm sorry, though. For heaping that on you. I—I thought I'd put it behind me."

Kratos made an abortive movement to reach out, like he wanted to touch or hold her, but thought better of it. "I think that…there is no putting something like that behind you. You can't let those memories fade, no matter how much it hurts, because once you do that, once you forget that pain and that anger, they win. They've erased the person you were."

_(She both wants to hug him, and doesn't, all at the same time. Kratos has this instinctive understanding of people, even if he doesn't know what to do with the information. She loves him for that. She had almost been part of those ashes, once. Her and Mithos both. They would have joined their family house when the elves came for them, little more than char and smoke in the wind. They'd run, though. Martel had taken her little brother and run until their legs shook, until they hadn't been able to stand anymore and then she'd hidden them in a tree, waiting for the elven scouts to find them, waiting for their death to come. Sometimes, Martel feels like she's still in that tree, waiting, but now she has more people to love and worry about, more people whose deaths can break her. It's a burden she's happy to bear; she can't imagine life without them anymore)_

* * *

Martel was surprised to see Abernac stepping through the door of her clinic. There were no new injuries that she could see on his person. She nodded to him in acknowledgment before finishing up with the patient in front of her. She soothed the irritated skin—even with healing magic, wounds from the Mana Cannon were a nasty piece of work—and let her mana sink beneath the top layer to heal the damage from the inside out.

"Alright," she said, bandaging up the arm. What was left of it, at least. "Keep this covered and make sure to put this on, morning and night." She gave the man a small jar of salve. "I'll see you again in three days."

Martel could feel Abernac's eyes on her as she cleaned off her work area. "Can I help you?"

"It's incredible," Abernac said. "Your magic—it can do things that I would have called impossible."

"Why are you here?" Martel winced a little. "Sorry. Didn't mean to snap. It's been a long day."

_(Her patience astounds him. She has to deal with missing limbs and traumatized patients every day and she still greets them with a smile, still treats each of them with energy)_

"I-I wanted to ask you about something."

"I'm listening."

"Your magic—" He hesitated, fist clenching in his pant leg. "Can it heal my leg?"

"Honestly? I don't know." Martel managed a tired smile. "But I can give it a look."

Abernac stayed as still as he could, her fingers probing the muscle of his thigh, bending his knee, murmuring a low spell to change the density of his bones, or so she explained calmly as she did each step.

"What's the damage?" he asked.

"Your bones healed correctly and they're set in the proper position," Martel said, pushing her bangs from her face. "But they weren't given time to finish healing. They're too thin to keep you standing for too long." She opened a notebook she'd taken to keeping of her patients. "How long can you be on your feet before the pain starts?"

"Couple of hours. Maybe."

Martel hummed. "Good days and bad days?"

"Just like anything in life. How did you know there was pain?"

Her eyes flicked up to his. "It's my job to know. How bad is the pain, usually? On a scale from one to ten?"

"Most days, about a six, if I'm not careful. On good days, maybe a four."

"And bad days?" she asked softly.

"Agonizing. There's no stopping it, no making it better. I can't even get out of bed." _(His wife used to help. She hadn't soothed the pain, but it had been easier to bear. Now, he lays there in his cold, foreign bed, forcing the pain back)_

"I see." Martel appeared unfazed by the news. Then again, she probably heard worse on a daily basis. "I can't guarantee anything, but there are some therapies and healing techniques that I can do to help it along. I don't think it will be able to be at a hundred percent ever again, to be honest, but I can help you get closer to it."

"Please. I-I don't want to feel useless anymore." He'd done as Kratos suggested and had been helping teach swordsmanship and—in particular—axmanship, but he needed to be back in the field, on the front lines. There was an itch beneath his skin he couldn't get rid of.

She nodded. "Okay." She ripped a piece of paper out of her notebook. "I'm going to give you a set of exercises to try. I want to see how much you can do." Her eyes steeled. "And do not even think of overexerting yourself."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

The four of them were called into a meeting late in the afternoon. At some point, they'd become an unofficial part of the war council. Viren was there, as well as Lyrion, Myra and Alstan.

"What's going on?" Mithos asked.

"I was reviewing the map. There's a human city here," Viren pointed on the map. "About twenty miles from one of our bases. My understanding is that it's a very large human city. Therefore, it has plenty of resources for us and it's a good strategic point."

"You want to take the city?" Yuan repeated.

Kratos had to squint to make out the scratchy writing on the map. It took him a moment to reconcile it with the maps he'd had to study in his childhood. "Ravenatele?"

"Do you know something about that city?" Lyrion asked.

"You're right. It is a large city. Second only to the capital. According to our history books, when the human empire was larger and spanned for most of the continent, they built a second city, dividing the empire into east and west territories, with a capital on each end. Ravenatele was the capital of the west."

"Any information more modern than that?"

Kratos struggled to remember what he'd been taught. "…It wasn't originally intended to be a fortress. There are walls and such surrounding it now, but it wasn't always that way. There's an old part of the city, closer to the center. It was originally built in the center of the valley, but over the years it's expanded. They built it up instead of out; its infrastructure is built around aqueducts that bring the city's water from the mountains."

Alstan stepped forward. "The information's not great, but it's more than we had. Viren's right about one thing: Ravenatele isn't far from our army. If we can take it, it'll be a great asset."

"We also would have to be able to keep the damn city," Myra added. "We can take that city from here 'til judgment day, but if we can't hold it, it'll end up being a slaughter. The humans know their city, they know the area. If we let them escape, they can easily bring back reinforcements. And our numbers aren't great either, particularly not after that last shot from the Mana Cannon. We'd have to take a great number from here and the surrounding area just to be able to make an attempt."

"You said it's in a valley?" Mithos asked.

Kratos nodded.

"If we can take the city, Gnome's power can help us hold it. I can use it to build better defenses, and maybe even change the ground we work on. A valley is plenty defendable, but there's always vulnerable points."

"You're going to need a more concrete plan," Viren told him, "But it's a start. There's no room for ifs and maybes if we go for this. It's going to be a high-risk situation, but with a high gain as well."

"I'll see what I can find about the city," Kratos said. "It has a long history, but it's been a long time since it's been taken in a military campaign."

"I expect a report in two days," Lyrion said. Since Zaren had been revealed as a traitor, Lyrion had been a bit more civil to all four of them, even if he was still rather cold. "Our informants should return by then and we will make a more solid plan."

"Yessir."

* * *

Alstan leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, taking in the sight of a classroom still under construction. There was glass in the windows, and the floors had been swept of debris. Kratos sat cross-legged on the floor, a small stack of books surrounding him, a notepad on his knee. His hair was swept up under a bandana, too-long hair tucked into a short tail at the nape of his neck; the rainy part of summer was over, but the heat was still powerful.

"So. The rumors are true." Kratos' head flew up, almost guiltily, like a child caught with his hands in a cookie jar. "I'd heard you were trying to start a school, but—this isn't what I pictured."

"These kids deserve to learn," Kratos said, not quite meeting Alstan's eyes. _(It is a learned thing, the idea that he should be ashamed of his love of learning. Alstan wants to hate Sandor Aurion for ever teaching Kratos that lesson. Death is something too good for him, Alstan thinks viciously, and then he's surprised by the thought. He's usually not that venomous)_ "And adults too, if they want. There's been so much lost and destroyed already; I want to help preserve what I can, before it's gone forever."

Alstan smiled faintly, pulling up one of the wooden benches from beneath a desk. "It's a noble goal." Kratos was, at his core, a gentle soul. He had the skills, heart, and mind of a warrior, but he'd been meant for peace.

"…May I ask you something?"

"I don't think I could stop you."

One of Kratos' fingers played absentmindedly with a corner of the notepad. "Why did you choose to join the war? I don't understand the benefit for an elf."

"You don't think I did out of the goodness of my own heart?"

"It's a possibility. But you've said it yourself that you used to believe, like most elves do, that they aren't part of this war. So what changed?"

Kratos had asked him a similar question, back in the military school. Alstan didn't remember how he'd responded; more than likely, he'd just brushed it away. But he didn't want to do that this time. Kratos deserved a proper answer.

"I'm a fourth son. Among elves—like with humans—it gives me little standing in society. My eldest brother inherited the family property, outside the city of Cellim. The second eldest married into a noble family, to help elevate our standing. The third eldest is a high priest of Ratatosk in Heimdall.

"I grew up in their shadow. I wanted to prove myself. The war was a very distant concept then, for elves. Perhaps a few skirmishes on the border. But I knew that the army offered me two options: I could either rise through the ranks and earn a respectable position, or I could die in glory, as a martyr.

"The skirmishes got worse. I got the opportunity to leave, to go to Heimdall to continue my studies. So I did." Alstan's brow furrowed. "I left behind a lot of good men and women there. Never thought to check back in with them. I graduated, and returned to the field as an officer. But we were already retreating, leaving our own people to get swallowed up by the humans as we hid behind our forests and mountains—impassable to humans. The bombs fell on Heimdall, that day. A quarter of the population dead."

Alstan paused, thinking of Myra and their conversation a week prior. Her story wasn't his to tell, he knew that. "…My best friend died that day. Him and his little girl." _(She'd been the spitting image of her father too, with his cheek-splitting grin and the star-silver curls. Her eyes had been Myra's though, intelligent and good-humored)_

He saw the flinch that went through Kratos at those words. It wasn't hard to imagine what was going through his head. Kratos had nearly lost Yuan often enough, and he had the Yggdrasills to worry about now as well. After the last few weeks? The mental image of his loved ones dying as bombs fell was all too easy to picture. "That's—"

Alstan held up a hand for silence, which Kratos obeyed. "It was a long time ago."

"Doesn't matter."

Alstan snorted. Kratos was too smart for his own good sometimes. "Regardless. I was given charge of the situation, and I was too full of rage, and grief to make the decisions that needed to be made. I ordered the retaliation, on a strategic human town called Bowten." He caught the look on Kratos' face. "You've heard of it."

Kratos nodded. "…yeah. The humans call it a massacre."

"It was. I sent a team of mages out there, in the night. One of them was summoner. They summoned Maxwell, the Spirit of Matter, and Magic. He used a spell called Meteor Storm. It obliterated the town, and the other mages finished it off."

Alstan fell silent, and Kratos let him collect his thoughts. It was long minutes before Alstan spoke again.

"I was praised for it. For the bold, decisive strike against the humans…It took me a long time to recover from the grief, but when I did, I realized that it was too much. I had gone too far and crossed a line. But the elves were still proud, still refusing to take any blame for abandoning their own people on the border, and—I didn't want to be a part of that. Refugees came to us, half-elves that actually managed to make it all the way to elven lands. They turned them away, spat in their faces. I left after that. I didn't want to be a part of an army that cared so little for its soldiers and country."

Kratos nodded, his fingers still playing with the thin pages. "Thank you for telling me. I just—I never wanted this. I never wanted to join the war; I just wanted a quiet life. But—I'm _good_ at this. At fighting, and killing. And I tried not to be a part of this, but…here I am. It makes me wonder if destiny truly exists. Or fate, or what have you."

Alstan hummed in understanding. "The elves don't believe in fate. Not as an independent concept. We believe that Origin, as the controller of Time, keeps the River of Time flowing, and that there is no changing events as they happen, or have happened, or that will. We just keep going."

"…That idea seems kind of sad," Kratos said, stretching his legs out, careful not to kick his stacks of books. "It kind of negates the idea of free will."

"Not necessarily. It's like you're swimming in a river. You can move around the water, change direction, but with a strong current, you can't escape it."

A thoughtful noise. "I still disagree with it." Kratos' smile was a bleak thing, but there were hints of his old, beaming one hidden in the corners. He was healing. "I don't like the idea that we couldn't have escaped all this suffering, that it was all going to happen no matter what. I need to believe that we can change things."

"I believe you will. That you already are." Alstan nodded to the stacks of books. "War isn't the only vehicle for change, and you can show them that. While you teach them their letters and numbers, also teach them a better way. Perhaps there will be a world that doesn't know war, one day, under your tutelage."

"I don't think I'll be able to make _that_ big a difference," Kratos said, his cheeks pink. His family believed in him, he knew that. Yuan, Martel, and Mithos were unshakable in their faith. But to have Alstan's faith too? It was rather humbling.

* * *

Kratos stirred when Yuan neared him. "'s just me," Yuan told him, careful to stand just out of arm's reach. He'd made the mistake of startling Kratos out of sleep before. The bruises were still fading.

"Ev'ythin' okay?" Kratos asked, yawning. His shoulders were still, as he'd fallen asleep hunched over his maps and books, still trying to find something of use on Ravenatele.

"Yeah, everyone's okay." Yuan took a seat beside him. "I stopped by the room, but you weren't there, so I came looking."

They'd been more nervous, since their capture at the capital. Every night, they checked in with their little family, needing to see them alive and well before being able to sleep.

Kratos sat up, groaning as his back popped and cracked. "That's not all of it though." Kratos eyed his best friend. "What happened?"

"I asked the blacksmith to make a pair of rings." Yuan smiled, shy and delighted. "I'm gonna ask Martel to marry me."

"Really?" Kratos grinned. "That's wonderful! I'm happy for you."

"Well, I haven't asked her _yet_." Yuan shifted, his ankles sliding against each other anxiously. "…You think she'll say yes?"

His grin softened to a fond smile, and Kratos clasped a hand on Yuan's shoulder. "There's not a doubt in my mind."

* * *

"The humans are scrambling right now," Lyrion said when they all met again. Their informants in the area had returned this morning, with an updated map and information. "According to our intelligence, the troops' morale is low due to the murder of General Aurion, particularly since it was at the hands of a few escaped prisoners."

"They don't know that it was Kratos that did it?" Yuan asked.

"No. There are rumors, of course, but there hasn't been an official statement. It's part of what's hurting their troops' morale. They know that their leaders are covering something up, and they no longer feel safe when their own prisoners can escape."

"Which makes it an ideal time to attack," Viren added. "If we can strike a major blow, it might be enough to cripple them. Possibly even earn ourselves a surrender."

"And you think Ravenatele is such an opportunity?"

Viren looked at Kratos; he could read the human better, particularly these days. They'd bonded, a little, after he'd returned from the capital, each to their own grief, mourning people that the rest of the world seemed to think didn't deserve mourning. "You told us it used to be a capital of half of the human empire."

"Right…that was—what—five hundred years ago?"

"But you still knew it. You haven't been part of human culture in over a decade and you _know_ that city. It's a symbol, as well as a strategic point. If we take it, we gain a lot of ground."

"No one doubts that, but the question still remains as to how," Yuan pointed out. "It's a highly defensible city, and the terrain doesn't leave us room for open battle."

"I may have found a solution," Mithos said. Everyone looked at him. "We use that terrain against them."

"How so?"

"Gnome." Mithos smoothed out the map, studying the city. "Ravenatele largely depends on the valley due to its natural defenses. I got the idea from Abernac, actually, and how he got his injury."

Martel was the first one to get it. "A rockslide."

"Yes. It'll scatter them and break their defenses."

Yuan leaned over the map, eyeing the terrain. "And they would have nowhere to run. We can leave them only one way to run, and just push them out."

"We can, Lyrion agreed. "But we need something more decisive. A bolder statement.'

"Like what?" Kratos asked warily. Since Zaren had been revealed as the traitor, Lyrion had been…more civil, with them, but that didn't mean that Kratos trusted that tone in his voice.

Viren was the one who answered. "We don't leave them anywhere to run. We have our forces here, and here," he pointed to the openings in the valley on either side of the city. "And we box them in."

It took a moment for the words to sink in.

"You're talking about an extermination." Kratos stared at Viren; he could have expected a plan like that from Lyrion, but Viren had always been a kinder person. "That city is full of innocent civilians."

Lyrion's fists clenched on the table. "This is war, Kratos. We don't have time for mercy. I thought you'd learned that when you killed your father."

Yuan watched as Kratos' face turned stony, his eyes hard. _(It's terrible, but at moments like these, that's when Yuan can see the resemblance to Sandor more than ever)_ "That situation was different," Kratos said, voice tight.

"No, it isn't. It's the same decision. Mercy versus the greater good. You chose correctly then—you gave us this opportunity. Don't fight this choice now."

Kratos' face shut down entirely, going blank. It scared Yuan a little that he could do that. "Yessir."

* * *

"I didn't want this," Mithos said, voice hollow. The four of them were sharing a room these days; there was less and less space for the recruits these days because of the refugees in the city. It made it easier to sleep, too. "I meant to drive the people out, like you said, Yuan. Not— _this_."

"It's going to be a slaughter," Martel said. "All to make a damn statement."

"But…if it helps end the war, won't it be worth it?" Kratos asked without looking up from where he was rolling up shirts and socks in his pack, getting ready for tomorrow's march to Ravenatele.

"Not at that price!" Mithos exclaimed. "We're sentencing all those people—innocent or not—to death. Who are we to make that decision?"

_And you're going to play judge, jury, and executioner?_

"Somebody has to. Otherwise the cycle just keeps going and the war won't end."

"It shouldn't be our first option," Martel said. "We haven't even _tried_ for peace." _(In truth, Martel would prefer it not to be an option at all, but she knows desperation, she knows how it is when it comes down to two options, Us and Them, and surviving only leaves room for Us)_

"No," Yuan said slowly. "We tried. We went to the King directly for peace, and we were almost put to death for it."

"We can't expect it to happen on the first try."

"We can't afford the extra tries, Martel. People are dying by the hundreds every day that this war goes on. People that leave behind children, and wives, and sisters, and grandparents to fend for themselves.

"So we just give up?" Martel demanded. She and Mithos didn't often look very much alike, except for times like right now, with their jaws set, and their eyes ablaze with injustice and determination.

"I never said that."

"So then what?"

"I don't know! Okay, I don't…know." Yuan sat back on his cot wearily. "I don't want the fighting to continue—of course I don't—but peace—the way you're talking about it—I don't…it's hard for me to believe it's possible."

"It has to be possible. Otherwise, what has all this pain been for?" Yuan didn't know if she was saying it for them or for herself. _(She's so strong, Martel. He doesn't know where she finds that strength, doesn't know how she hasn't broken under the strain of everything. He feels brittle, these days. He doesn't think he can take much more of this)_

Kratos cleared his throat. "So what's your solution?" He wanted Martel and Mithos to be right, wanted there to be another way. He just didn't see one.

"We're supposed to start marching tomorrow, right?" Mithos began slowly.

"Yeah."

"So, why don't we go on ahead of the army and warn the general or the governor—whoever's in charge of the area?"

"Because we'll probably be strung up by our heels for it," Yuan said. "They're not in a good place right now, and they definitely won't trust half-elves coming for peace."

"So we go in with no weapons."

Yuan stared at Kratos. "Are you suicidal right now?"

"Humans don't understand magic. Not properly. They think half-elves need staffs, or candles and summoning circles. It's an abstract concept to them. And they don't know that I can do magic. So we're not walking in powerless."

"We can't all four go," Martel pointed out. "If things go south, there needs to be some of us here to bring the army in."

"I'll go!" Mithos said before the other three immediately shot him down.

"You need to stay here," Yuan explained. "You're the linchpin in the entire attack with Gnome. So you stay with the army. And Martel, if things do go south, you should be here, with the army, ready to do your job. Healers are rare enough as it is. Kratos and I will go."

Mithos looked like he wanted to argue more, but it was hard to argue when Yuan laid it all out so logically like that.

"We can get there faster on Noishe. He's strong enough to carry both of us now." Noishe hadn't evolved into anything else, but he'd grown about a half a foot taller in the last two years, and had grown more muscular.

"And if things go south?"

"It should take us…"Kratos did some mental calculations. "About a half a day to reach them on Noishe. If we're not back by sunset, if you don't hear anything from us, Noishe'll come back and you send the army in."

"That leaves you two trapped inside."

"We'll fight our way out."

"And besides," Yuan managed a bleak version of his usual arrogant smirk. "I can light up the whole area if I need to. I'm impossible to miss."

"I don't like it," Martel said. "But it's our best option right now. When do you leave?"

"Soon as Kratos is done refolding that same shirt he's been folding for the past twenty minutes."

Kratos flushed, but he stuffed the shirt in his pack. "We'll see you tomorrow," he told Martel, kissing her forehead before giving Mithos a hug.

"You know we're not _that_ easy to get rid of." Yuan ruffled Mithos' hair, which earned him a playful punch to the ribs, and bent to kiss Martel slowly. "We're coming back," he assured her, still close enough that he could feel her breath on his skin.

"You'd better." Martel gave them both one last, tight hug before they slung their packs over their shoulders and left the room.


	67. Fearless

_You just have to walk in the room and be fearless. Never let people think for a minute that you couldn't take them down.  
-Stevie Nicks_

* * *

Viren came to the clinic, where Martel was doing final checks on her supplies for the march.

"Good morning," she greeted coolly. Zaren's betrayal had, naturally, hit Viren the hardest, but it was causing his decision-making skills to falter; Martel couldn't agree with Viren that slaughtering all the people inside Ravenatele was the best plan.

"Good morning. I can't find Yuan or Kratos. Have you seen them?"

Martel shook her head. "No. They left before I woke up." It wasn't _technically_ a lie.

"I need them to lead two teams to help corral the escapees for today."

"You didn't mention that yesterday."

"We reviewed the plan and decided that there was still a lot of room for people to run if they make it out of the city. The both of them are decent trackers, but more importantly, our soldiers trust them."

"Good luck finding them."

Viren's eyes narrowed. "And they didn't leave a note or anything?"

"Not that I saw," Martel said, standing, and wiping remnants of balm on her pants. "But I'll pass on the message if I see them."

"Thank you."

* * *

"This idea seems dumber and dumber the longer it goes on," Yuan muttered as he climbed down the service ladder for the aqueduct that Noishe had landed on.

"Remember the alternative," Kratos said, looking around and trying to orient himself. "The command center should be…that way, if the maps of Ravenatele were accurate."

"We just escaped prison and now you want to get arrested again?" Yuan couldn't stop remembering manacles on his wrists, and being trapped in that cell, with Zaren staring out across the hallway at him.

"No one said anything about being arrested."

"Yeah, we just walk in with a white flag? Great plan."

Kratos gritted his teeth. "We don't need your negativity right now. C'mon."

Yuan tugged his hood further over his head, but stayed quietly on Kratos' heels.

* * *

"Yggdrasill!"

Mithos and Martel both turned at the sound of their name. They exchanged a look—Myra must be really on edge with that tone. "Yes ma'am?"

"Your men—where are they?"

Martel rather liked the idea of Kratos and Yuan being her men, of being hers, really. It had been just her and Mithos for too long.

Mithos blinked his big blue eyes. "They never reported for duty?"

"Don't play dumb with me."

The siblings glanced at the sky, judging the time. Kratos and Yuan should be either in the city, or nearing it by now. "We came up with an alternate plan," Mithos said. "For Ravenatele.

Myra drew in a deep breath. "Spirits above. They're over there now, aren't they?"

"We have to at least _try_ for peace," Mithos insisted. "Civilians dying as collateral damage because of bombs and magic is one thing—it's still a tragedy, but it's war. What you guys are setting out to do is _genocide_."

"You think the humans haven't done the same to us?"

"I think we need to show them a better way!"

Myra's face was unreadable. "We march on them today."

"If we don't receive word on them by sundown," Martel said. "We can rain hell down on them. But let Yuan and Kratos try to negotiate a surrender."

"You haven't given us another option." Myra exhaled through her nose. "…Do you think they can do it?"

Both siblings answered without hesitating. "Yes."

* * *

"We've come to offer you an opportunity, General," Yuan said, choosing his words carefully.

"An opportunity," the General scoffed. "What can a pair of half-breeds possibly have to offer me?"

General Gower was a heavyset man, whose hair and beard were shot through with grey. There was a thinness to his face, however, that spoke of lean times. Last winter had been a hard one out here then. Kratos recognized General Gower vaguely from the Celsius Day parties that his father had been invited to, but twenty years made quite a bit of difference.

"Our army prepares to invade, General, and we have the resources and strength to flatten Ravenatele." Being civil to this man made Yuan itch, but this was a negotiation, not an argument. He could prove that half-elves could be just as educated and articulate as humans. "We can—and will—kill every last man, woman, and child."

"Unless?"

"Surrender. Yield your troops and your weapons, allow them to be taken prisoner and the city is spared."

General Gower laughed. "You expect me to believe this?"

Kratos—who had been quiet until now—stepped forward. "General Gower, your military has made the mistake of underestimating us once before, and for that, General Aurion paid the price. Do you really want to risk your city, and the lives of thousands, on the long odds that we're bluffing?"

Gower eyed Kratos, measuring him up the way that the drill sergeants in the military school had. "…I know your face. You're his traitor son."

"And his killer." Kratos couldn't quite call himself a murderer. It hit a little too close to home.

"So the rumors are true."

"Every word. Now, I know you care for your troops, General. It's why you haven't advanced far into half-elf territory—you think it's too risky. And you're right. So, do the right thing for your people and surrender." The more Kratos spoke, the more comfortable he felt. He could do this; words were his specialty.

"You expect me to surrender my people to savages?"

"No. I expect you to surrender to a more powerful enemy so that you and yours can live to fight another day."

Gowen snorted. "Please. They'll be locked underground to starve and die, if they're lucky."

"No. That's a human practice." _(It's weird, sometimes, when Kratos hears himself speak. He talks about humans like he's not part of them—which, politically, he's not—but he doesn't always belong with the half-elves either. He's in-between everything)_ "Nor will they be enslaved."

Yuan watched Kratos, fearless and confident—everything he'd hoped his best friend would grow to be, and here it was. Perhaps his father's darkness wouldn't stay with him.

"What's to stop me from killing the both of you where you stand, and prepare my city for war?"

Yuan couldn't help the smirk at that point. "You're a smart man, General. Surely you realize that there are contingencies in place should we not report back. This all circles back to one thing: Are you a betting man? And are you willing to risk several thousand lives on that decision?"

"Hypothetically, I surrender. What's to stop your army from destroying us all with our guards down?"

It was a fair question, and one that neither Yuan nor Kratos had considered.

"Keep me here," Kratos suggested. "Allow Yuan to return with news of your surrender. You can keep me under guard. When our general comes to negotiate the specifics of your surrender, I go free."

_(Yuan's first thought is to tell Kratos no. He didn't want to leave him in this city by himself, surrounded by the enemy. But this is their best chance)_

"Are we in agreement?" Kratos asked, holding out his hand.

"…Agreed. Ravenatele surrenders."


	68. Life of Leaving Home

_"A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships were built for."_   
_-John A Shedd_

* * *

"You deserted your posts and treated with the enemy against orders."

"Technically," Yuan interrupted. "You never ordered us _not_ to go in there, so—"

"Your orders were to remain with the troops and command your men."

"We chose to ignore those orders on the grounds that they were detrimental to the army, as well as to the overall strategy, sir." Kratos said it with the stiff words, straight posture, and serious face that only military school could train into you.

"That's precisely the problem," Lyrion said tightly. "You don't get to just ignore the orders you don't agree with."

"The end result was worth it," Mithos said, stepping forward. "We managed to end this without bloodshed."

"The end does not justify the means. The entire army falls apart with that kind of thinking that you all do. There is a chain of command that must be obeyed."

"So what happens to us then?" Yuan asked.

"This isn't the first time that you two have demonstrated this kind of rebellious behavior." Myra stood with her arms crossed beside Lyrion. Yuan glanced over to Alstan, who hadn't said a word since they'd been called into the command tent. His lips were tight, jaw clenched. Not good news. "In fact, you have a history of it. Regardless of the reason, or the results, we have decided to discharge you. Dishonorably. We cannot condone this behavior in the military."

"You said 'we'. Who decided?" Kratos asked.

"The four of us took a vote," Viren answered. "Majority ruled."

"That's bullshit, Viren!" Yuan exclaimed. "You agreed with the decision to try for a treaty!" Viren had been the first one Yuan found when he'd returned to camp with the news that Gower had agreed.

"I agreed with the result, not the action." Viren's eyes were hard, still not quite able to mask the pain left behind from Zaren. "This isn't personal. I have to act as an example for this army."

Martel, who had been quietly absorbing everything, finally spoke up. "Just to be clear—who is being discharged?"

"Kratos and Yuan. You and Mithos are certainly accomplices, but they are the ones who deserted, and therefore will take the punishment."

"Oh good." Martel's tone immediately put everyone on edge. It was entirely too pleasant and polite. "I'd hate to think you lot were biased and self-serving."

Lyrion was the only one to challenge that tone. "Excuse me?"

"We are equally as guilty in all of this, but you want to keep Mithos and I around because it _suits_ you. The army is low enough on Healers as it is, and Mithos' pacts with the Summon Spirits are an enormous advantage for you." Kratos and Yuan exchanged a look, glad that her anger—which had gone positively icy—wasn't directed at them. "You honored them for killing men, and you're discharging them for saving lives. You may not see the fault in that logic, but I most certainly do. We're leaving."

Yuan's jaw dropped a little, and he tried to speak, but the words were stuck.

Martel arched a brow at him, imperious as a queen. "Did you have anything to add?"

There was really only one answer to that. "No ma'am."

Mithos was the last one to be jolted from shock, and had to jog a little to follow them out. _(He has seen his sister do things like this before, being powerful, demanding attention and respect. It's something he finds incredible, and he will never cease to be stunned at how Martel knows how to command a room)_

"Martel—you—" It took Yuan a few tries to get his words in the right order. "Are you sure about this? I mean—" The military was as safe a place as any she could find for her and Mithos, a place where both of them had respectable work and a roof over their heads—even if half the time, it was only a canvas one. A place where they could both grow into their incredible potential.

Martel turned on her heel so abruptly that Yuan had to dig his heels into the dirt to stop from crashing into her. He felt Kratos bump him. "You two are our family," she said. "We're with you, no matter what."

"Besides," Mithos added. "We're just as guilty as you are. Martel covered for you, and this whole thing was my idea."

"But—where will we go?" Kratos asked. It was a question he hadn't had to ask in years now, because they'd found a home. And now they were being forced to leave again.

"Well, I've been doing some thinking—"

"It's been fifteen minutes!" Yuan said. "How much thinking could you have done?"

"I figured that they'd probably pull something like this," Mithos replied, shrugging. "And I don't want to keep being their pawn. So…there's still other Summon Spirit pacts. We can go make them while still advocating for peace."

Yuan looked over his shoulder at Kratos. "Well? You've barely said a thing."

Kratos bit his lip a little before grinning tentatively. "It's a better idea than we had the first time we set out on our own. I say let's do it."

Yuan hooked his arms around Kratos and Martel, yanking them into a tight hug. He waved Mithos into it too, unwilling to let his family go. _(He has a family again. It's something that hits him powerfully now; he's not alone. It's not him-and-Kratos against the world. With the Yggdrasills added into the equation, they can surely take on anything)_

* * *

"Where will you go?"

Kratos looked up from where he was packing his and Yuan's meager belongings. Yuan had to run to the blacksmith to see about picking up his rings. Alstan hovered just out of the doorway, looking older than he'd ever seen him.

"We're going to find a peaceful way to end all this, and make pacts with the Summon Spirits at the same time."

"You really think it can be done?"

"Yeah." Mithos' conviction was contagious, and hadn't he and Yuan just proved that people were willing to settle for peace?

Alstan huffed. "Well, if anyone could prove the world wrong, it would be you four." Alstan looked at the young man in front of him, thought of Yuan, and he felt a surge of pride. It was perfectly likely that Alstan would never have children—he'd never been very interested in them, or in making them—but he imagined, with Kratos and Yuan, that this was what having sons must be like. They had grown so much from the brave, frightened children he'd met all those years ago.

"…Send word, when you can?" Alstan was old. Not, perhaps, in terms of the elves. He was barely past middle-aged in those terms, but he _felt_ old. Time was a heavy thing to rest on one's shoulders, and he was so tired of losing people. Friends, family, soldiers under his command. He needed to know that these boys—these men—were doing alright in a world that hated them. He wanted to believe that they would be fine, but he was too realistic for that.

Kratos smiled gently. "You're getting sentimental in your old age."

Before Alstan could reprimand him for disrespect, Kratos added, "But we will. You know us—we've never exactly been subtle."

"I don't think you guys know the meaning of the word."

Kratos barked a laugh, but quickly quieted. "…I'm worried about my classroom, Alstan. I don't want it to just…stagnate and get left behind. But I won't be able to teach them anymore. And—I know you're busy. Everyone is. I just—if you can find anyone who can teach them, even if it's not on a regular basis—"

"I will."

Kratos jolted in surprise, staring up at Alstan. "But, your duties—"

"I'm not going to say that it's going to be a common thing. You're right, we are busy. But I'll do my best to teach them when I can. I don't think finding another teacher to help will be easy, but I'll see what I can do."

Alstan was still quietly furious at the fact that Viren—of all people—had voted for discharging them. They'd done a great thing, even if they had disobeyed orders. Alstan would have agreed to punishing them somehow, to keep the order in the military, but to discharge them entirely was a foolish decision. They could stay in the city; they'd only been discharged from the military after all, but neither Kratos nor Yuan were any good at staying behind when battles were being fought.

They would have made good teachers, the both of them, Alstan thought fondly. Kratos with his patience and enthusiasm, Yuan with his energy and the way he put people at ease. They were good for this community. People had come to trust and like Kratos, despite his blood, and the children never learned to be afraid of him. At first, Alstan had wondered if, perhaps, Yuan-and-Kratos had been a fluke, that humans and half-elves as a whole couldn't get along like that, but he'd been wrong. He wanted to preserve that feeling, that legacy here in this city.

Kratos beamed at him. "Thank you."

* * *

"About that commission…"

The blacksmith looked up from his dinner of thin soup and some mutton. "The rings are done."

Yuan shifted on his feet, hating the lightness of the coins in his pocket. He'd been poor all his life; he'd slept on the cold ground more often than he had a bed, but he'd never been ashamed of it until now. "Thank you, but—I'm afraid I don't have the money for them."

The blacksmith sighed, setting his fork and knife down. "Spit it out."

"Kratos and I were discharged today. We're leaving the city." And everyone knew that their odds of making it back alive were rather low. Yuan dug the coins from his pockets. There had been much of his life when this much gald would have sent him over the moon, more money than he'd ever had at one time, but now? It wasn't nearly enough. "I mean, I brought what I have, but…"

They'd agreed to pay in installments, some of Yuan's paycheck every few weeks. It had been a fair deal, had let Yuan breathe through the thought of never having enough for the lovely rings.

The blacksmith looked at the coins gathered in Yuan's hand. He knew the young man well enough; earnest, hard-working, a family man. It was why he'd agreed to the installment plan in the first place. He almost wanted to take the money and give him the rings anyway; the blacksmith had been poor before. He knew how much it burned to never have enough.

But Yuan was also a proud man—and rightfully so. He'd earned his way to where he was—and wouldn't accept anything possibly perceived as charity.

He took the money from Yuan's hands; not all of it, but a decent sum. "I'll take this as an investment. You lot really believe in this peace nonsense." And they'd proven it was possible. He'd been braced for many funerals, ready to make quite a few talismans to place on bodies for protection, but there had been no need. And it was thanks to them. "If you believe in it that much, you come back when the war's over, and you pay me back for the rest. Plus interest."

Yuan grinned, life returning to him. "You got yourself a deal."

The blacksmith got to his feet, knees creaking and cracking, to get the box from his storage area. They were a lovely pair of rings, he had to say; Yuan had a good eye for design. Made half of gold, half of steel—a mix that suited the both of them, but particularly Martel. Engraved on the inside were their names, Martel-and-Yuan, linked together with woven ivy leaves whose pattern continued on the outside.

"Best of luck, boy."

* * *

"Don't forget to take this."

Martel was surprised that Myra even bothered to visit at all. To be fair, it was Myra's clinic, but the place had become something like a home. _(It's been a long time since home was a physical place. Ever since they were run out of Heimdall, her home has been Mithos. And then Kratos-and-Yuan had expanded that. But Martel will miss this place, and that is a feeling she isn't used to)_

"Thank you." Martel said curtly, taking the offered batch of precious apple and orange gels. There wouldn't be any more gels until after the next harvest.

"They would've been killed. You understand that, right? None of you are invincible."

"Of course I know that."

"We can't have them constantly putting themselves and others at risk like that."

"Some things are worth risking everything for."

"Sure," Myra agreed. "But the things that you all seem to think are worth it are impossible dreams."

"We disagree." Martel sat back on her heels, setting down the rolls of bandages that she was taking with her. Myra looked even taller from this angle, but she also looked incredibly tired. "…Why are you so afraid?"

 _(Martel's strength is a daunting thing. Myra doesn't understand how she can have such little fear when those boys of hers were so vulnerable, when they did such_ reckless _things that could get them killed. She has so much to lose, and yet, she never backs down from that fact, never cowers, and for that, Myra admires her)_

"…I lost everything once already. I refuse to let it happen again." Martel reminded Myra so much of herself, all those years ago. A promising talent and intellect, a lover, a child, friends. She had hope, was happy to help everyone. The bitterness hadn't hit her yet, disillusionment still little more than a nightmare. She hoped that Martel's path was different than hers, that it didn't end with her being alone in the world. _(Except for Alstan. He's stubborn like that, but at the moment, he's not happy with her for voting in favor of the dishonorable discharge)_

"I won't lose them."

"You can't control that."

Martel bared her teeth in a vicious, terrible smile. "I'd like to see the world try."

_(Martel has defied nations, and castes, and religions to defend her and Mithos. She has fought mobs and monsters, has survived storms and sickness and starvation. She won't allow the world to take her family)_

Looking at that expression, at the steel in those eyes, Myra knew that she wouldn't be able to dissuade her former pupil from her course, as she'd been intending to do. "…I wish you the best, then."

* * *

Kratos found Mithos sitting in a tree at their designated meeting spot near the edge of town. He was staring out at the city, back against the trunk, his pack settled on the ground beneath him. Kratos set his own pack and sword down beside Mithos', climbing up to sit on a nearby branch.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" Kratos asked. He doubted that Mithos would ever be anywhere without Martel, but the question had to be asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I've always thought it was weird, when I heard the other soldiers talking about being homesick. I didn't understand it."

"But you do now?"

Mithos shook his head. "No. I thought I might, now that we're leaving. This is the first place I can remember _living_ in, y'know? I don't remember Heimdall, like Martel does. 's why I came up here, to look at the city. But…nothing. I think I'll miss some pieces of it, but…I don't regret the decision to leave, and I don't feel like I'm missing anything."

Kratos carefully brought one knee up so he could rest an elbow on it, trying not to unbalance himself. "I felt the same way when Yuan and I left for military school. I was afraid to go, but when we got there, I realized that I never did miss home. I didn't miss it when we left the school either."

Mithos turned to look at him. "Think there's something wrong with us?"

Kratos snorted. "No. I think we're the kind of people that have home with people, not places."

Mithos hummed thoughtfully, thinking of Martel, of Kratos and Yuan. It sounded right. "I think that makes more sense. Places can be taken away."

"So can people," Kratos pointed out.

"True. But I don't much like the idea of being in one place for so long." Mithos smiled a little. "I like travelling, dangerous as it is."

"I enjoy travelling, but…I think I would like a place to return to. A place that's mine."

Mithos considered that thought, but he couldn't imagine it. What would he even fill a home up with? Books? "I think any place of mine would look more like a library."

"Mine too," Kratos laughed.

"Maybe a garden," Mithos added. He'd learned a lot of plants with Martel, and he liked the fresh scent of sage, and the sturdiness of verbena.

"I'm terrible with plants," Kratos said. "But I think a garden would suit you. Or at least a flowerbox."

"I think you would have art on the walls too. Not the fancy kind, but just…things your students would make you." Mithos could picture it quite clearly now that he'd thought about it. "Clumpy teapots, drawings on the walls, a whole drawer full of the stories they write. And a lot of windows too. You would like a lot of light."

Huh. Kratos looked out towards the city, trying to imagine Mithos' words. He did kind of like the idea. Of being in a place steady enough to have students, to watch them grow and mature, even long after they'd stopped taking lessons with him. To celebrate their achievements, to teach _their_ children. "That sounds like a nice life."

"Planning for the future already, Kratos?" Both of them looked down to see Yuan smiling up at them. He put a dramatic hand over his heart. "I always knew you would leave me for a younger man."

Mithos threw an acorn at him, landing squarely on his forehead, making him yelp. "Oh don't complain," he called down. "You cheated first, remember? With my sister!"

"You're cheating on me now?" Martel said, her pack slung over her shoulder, grinning at Yuan's sputtering. "With Kratos too. Well, I should've known." She kissed Kratos' cheek as he finished climbing down. "But who can say no to this handsome face?"

Yuan clapped a friendly hand to Kratos' red cheek. "I know, right? This face is the inspiration for poetry the world over."

"Shut up." Kratos shoved his best friend away, laughing.

 _(Yeah. Home is them, Kratos knows this now. Home is Yuan's familiarity, his warmth and ferocity. Home is Martel's sweetness and steel will, her arms around him. Home is Mithos' smile, his wicked fast humor and cleverness, his quiet vulnerabilities. Kratos can't imagine wanting to be without them)_ +


	69. Shadow

_I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and you see it all the way through, no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes, you do._

_-Harper Lee (To Kill a Mockingbird)_

* * *

Shadow's warrior monks, renowned in legend for never having been defeated in battle, were largely dwarves.

"Everyone's always surprised," Malik laughed. He was the first person they'd met here; he was jovial and energetic, with an intricately braided beard, and beads of silver and bronze glinting in his hair.

"Well, it makes sense when you think about it," Martel said, the first to recover from the surprise. "I mean, the Temple is entirely underground."

"Not too many half-elves out here, huh?" Yuan asked.

"There are some, but you lot tend to not like spending much time underground. Too much elf-blood in ya."

Shadow's Temple was in the heart of a mountain, full of archways and open ceilings. Braziers were kept lit everywhere, and many of the walls were decorated with gemstones which reflected and refracted the light from the fires.

"So—this might be a rude question—" Yuan began, and Malik just waved at him to continue. "I'd heard the Shadow monks were all bald."

Malik smiled. "Only the masters. They tattoo their vows on their bodies, as well as the traditional prayers and incantations."

"All of them?" Kratos asked.

"Yes."

"You don't have them in a book or—"

"We have many of our prayers bound in books, yes, but there are spells on out masters' skin that are not to be public knowledge. They are too powerful."

The idea of having spells that had been hidden by such measures was a little terrifying, but then Kratos remembered Alstan's story about Bowten, and the Meteor Storm, and he thought that yes, some things were too powerful to be public knowledge.

* * *

Kratos enjoyed watching the monks train. They were incredibly flexible, and they moved with a grace and certainty that he couldn't ever hope to mimic.

One of them waved him over, inviting him to join them. "I—that might be difficult. I can't do what you guys do."

"We don't expect you to. Just try."

So he did. He watched them, and clumsily attempted to follow them through slow stances and deep stretching, but he couldn't get anywhere close to their level.

"You're stiff," they told him.

"Did you have an injury recently?" the one who'd invited him asked.

Kratos thought of his back, which had healed so well, he'd thought. "It's healed. It shouldn't be a problem."

"Your range of motion takes a lot of damage when you're injured. Was it your back?"

Kratos nodded.

"I thought it might be. Come, we'll work on that then."

The stretches _burned_ and hurt somewhere deep in his muscles, but the next morning, even though he was sore, Kratos found himself looser and more limber and he hadn't realized that his back was still tight, that he'd been so afraid of reinjuring it that he'd been holding back.

"That is common with injuries," Chaila, as he'd learned her name to be, said when he told her about it. "But the longer you shy away from it, the harder it is to ever do the things that started it all."

"You sound like you're speaking from experience."

She stretched out her leg and tugged up her pant. There was a deep scar running up her leg, faded now, but the gravity was still evident. "An accident in the forge. It took me three months to take a step again. And I was terrified of ever setting foot in the forge again. My wife helped me find the courage to go back in."

Kratos thought of facing down his father, remembered the slight weight of Mithos on his back. "…There is a human saying that says that courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the realization that there is something more important than fear."

She smiled. "Humans have their own wisdom, I suppose."

"Do you hate them?" Dwarves had been largely removed from much of the war, but they'd been affected nonetheless.

"I try not to. Most of the world that believes in Spirits believe that Shadow is a malicious being. I've learned that that isn't true, and it's taught me that everyone has their own side to things. It is a difficult thing to remember when the bombs fall and we count our dead, but I have to. Elsewise, we slip backwards, not forwards."

Kratos smiled at her. "Dwarves have their wisdom as well."

* * *

Mithos learned the rituals here as well: the correct order to light the candles, which stones to use on which spell circle. The language was difficult, a mix of dwarven and elven.

"I'm afraid I can't help you with this one," Kratos told him, looking at the carefully written notes that Mithos had taken. "I don't know dwarven, and I can barely stumble through elven thanks to you and Martel. If it was verbal, I could probably help you, but—yeah."

The monks were particularly fond of sparring with Martel. They were superior in terms of physical fighting, but they found Martel's light magic a challenge to work with, and vice versa.

Kratos chuckled when he felt Martel drop her head on his thigh. "How was sparring?"

"Dark magic sucks," Martel grumbled.

He rubbed her back sympathetically, feeling her lean into his touch. "Gravity Wells again?"

"They're hard to get around and they mess with my aim." Her voice was a little muffled by his thigh, but he managed to understand her. She turned a bit so her voice came clearer. "It's good training, but it's _annoying_." Kratos snorted, and she playfully poked his ribs. "Your sympathy is overwhelming."

He just grinned at her, unapologetic.

Martel craned her neck a little to see the notebook in his lap. "Read me something?"

He smoothed some hair from her face. This was a habit they'd been settling into, him reading the stories he'd collected over their travels. Just like Martel had taken to playing the pipes that the blacksmith had given her. Calming things, things they hadn't had time for back in the capital.

"Sure. My pick?"

"I trust your taste."

Kratos told her the story of Shadow's love for Aska, forever destined to be impossible because of Aska and Luna's love, and so Shadow chose to retreat to give Aska his space, and that was the reason for day and night. It was a story he'd learned here, and he found it a very different point of view compared to how most half-elves seemed to think of Shadow, as a more menacing Spirit, used to scare their children into coming home at sunset.

Martel listened, half-dozing to the relaxing cadence of Kratos' voice, and his hand scratching lightly at her back. Kratos had a very pleasant voice, she thought, deep and measured, but highlighted with his laughter, which didn't boom as most people with deep voices did, but it slipped out, almost surprised, every time.

"Falling asleep on me?" Kratos asked, amused. "I didn't think I was _that_ boring."

Martel thought about responding, but decided instead on snuggling closer. He just let out a huff of a laugh and continued reading, well past when she actually fell asleep.

* * *

"Electricity creates light, yes?" Yuan asked Simone, a dwarf with a handsome beard of her own, streaked with gray, and she kept her hair hidden beneath a scarf.

"It can generate the power to create light," Simone corrected.

Yuan had grown up with the humans, and their electrical devices. They tended to run on some kind of false mana, with the magitechnology, but dwarven technology used it too. He'd seen it in some of their lamps in the libraries. No fire was allowed in the libraries. "Can you teach me?"

"You're a stubborn one." Simone eyed him, her eyes bright and a very pale blue to look almost silver. "But you're willing to learn. It's not easy, I'll grant you, but aye, I'll teach you."

In truth, Simone—as well as several other dwarves who helped her teach—were thrilled to have Yuan as a student, teaching him the sigils and runes necessary for their art. They'd tried teaching half-elves before, but Yuan was having more success than they'd had.

"Which isn't saying much," Yuan said dryly over lunch. "'Cause I'm not exactly having a whole lot of success either."

Dwarven magic was based around the idea that everything could be connected to something else. The fewer steps between connections—like sand to glass—the stronger the magic. Something like wood to metal needed a great deal of strength to do, and very few mages could generate the mana necessary for it.

Their runes represented things or connections and, when carved into a material, they maintained that connection. It was how they created their ever-burning lamps, or their dull-resistant swords.

"It's very different from elven magic," Yuan told Kratos. "In the spells we grew up learning, the mana we put into the spell is channeled through the circle gathering energy through what is essentially momentum and then we shoot it. But this stuff? It's like making a permanent connection between the mana and the circle, so the spell never shoots, but it is constantly maintaining its own energy."

"I've never heard of a dwarven mage on a battlefield," Kratos said. "Perhaps that's why. It sounds like it would take an incredible amount of concentration and speed to do it effectively."

When they asked Malik about it, his eyes gleamed. "Very astute of you. Yer right; we don't have battle-mages like you lot. If our mages go to battle, they stay in the back."

"Like snipers."

"Precisely. They're too much of a liability in the thick of battle. It's why we learned to forge our weapons and armor as well as we did in the first place. To keep up."

* * *

Mithos was studying his own spells—Spirits above, no wonder dark magic was rare. The language itself was difficult enough to learn, and once you figured that out, getting the spells to work properly was tricky—when he heard pops and curses, followed by the smell of something burning.

He dropped the book on his bed, and followed the smell, summoning a ball of witchlight to guide him. The Temple was fairly well-lit, but dwarves had better night-vision than other races, and Mithos was tired of straining his eyes all the time.

"Everything okay?" he asked as Yuan stamped out the little pile of burning…something…on the ground.

"Yeah. Just…a miscalculation."

Mithos looked at the table where a small roll of tools were and a book. He'd heard that Yuan was learning dwarven technology, but he hadn't known really what went into it. "What were you trying to do?"

"Create a light. It's supposed to be a basic thing, y'know?" Yuan glared at the tools like they'd offended him. "Apparently not."

"Want some help?" Mithos smiled wryly. "I could use some time away from spell circles."

"You're an angel." Yuan tugged the book over so he could show Mithos what he was working on. He and Mithos had been working together, trying to translate dwarven magic into something they could do, not just understand. They both understood the concept perfectly well; but actually getting their runes to _do_ anything was proving to be the real challenge.

They puzzled through it—it was simple enough in theory. Running an electric current through a piece of metal and convert that into light—but Yuan was having trouble with output and he'd almost blinded himself once before he figured out that particular problem, but the extra light had converted to heat and that was when he'd set the thing on fire.

"Like you always do," Mithos said, and wasn't surprised when his head got shoved playfully.

* * *

Kratos groaned when he heard two familiar voices whooping. "I hate them," he muttered darkly, and he heard Martel's grumbled agreement from the other bed.

Neither of them were shocked when Mithos and Yuan burst back into their shared room. "Check this out!"

Martel's bright eyes peered dangerously out of her blanket nest. It had been a long day, and she'd only gone to bed two hours before. Kratos just rolled over a little, too lazy to actually sit up, and they both immediately regretted their decisions when Yuan tapped something in his hand and it lit up like a beacon in the dark room.

"Turn it off!" Martel told him, burying her face in her pillow, purple and yellow spots dancing in her vision.

"Sorry," Yuan said hurriedly, tapping the metal again.

"The hell was that?" Kratos asked, eyes still burning a little, and keeping his palms pressed against his eyes.

"A light. Mithos helped me figure it out."

"Lampshades are a thing, Yuan. Can you learn to make one of those?"

Yuan grinned a little before planting a kiss on top of Kratos' head. "Sure thing, sunshine. Next on the list." He gave Martel an apologetic nuzzle before wishing her a good night, that he and Mithos still had stuff to work on.

"Like lampshades," Martel said.

Mithos laughed, bright as Yuan's light. "Yeah, like lampshades."

* * *

Mithos had a panic attack in the middle of the fight against Shadow. Martel had been knocked out—Yuan was slipping over to revive her, but there was no light down here. The candles he'd lit at the beginning as per tradition had gone out, and Yuan's lightning wasn't doing anything right now. Kratos was having issues even fighting Shadow—how do you hit a shadow? How do you strike it with a sword?—but Mithos was frozen, his lungs paralyzed in his chest.

_(He remembers another underground Temple, remembers the terror of fighting a Spirit all on his own. He remembers winning, barely, and lying on the ground in front of the altar, bruised and feeling something broken, and how had he not even said anything to the others? Even written a note? He couldn't stand, it hurt to move. He's going to die down there, in a dark cavern, all alone)_

Kratos sent a burst of air to push Mithos out of Shadow's line of fire. "Focus, Mithos! We can beat him!"

And there was Martel, climbing to her feet, a brilliantly white spell circle under her as Yuan leapt back into the fray with Kratos.

Mithos sucked in a breath.

He wasn't alone.

His family was here.

He grinned, and lit up the room with a Ray.


	70. The Sylph

_When you refuse to let fear run your life, the possibilities become infinite.  
-Gaile Lowe_

* * *

"You said that you grew up with the Sylph as a patron spirit, right?" Kratos asked Yuan. After he nodded, Kratos continued, "So that means we're near your home village then?"

"I suppose so." Yuan's lips twisted oddly. "I don't think I'd even recognize the way there anymore, it's been so long."

"…Do you ever regret it? Not going back at all over the years?"

"It wouldn't have been home if I'd gone back, Kratos," Yuan said softly. "If it's even still standing. Besides," Yuan hooked a hand around Kratos' neck, pulling him down to kiss his hair. "Why would I ever want to leave you?"

_(That doesn't mean he's never considered it. He'd dreamed of Asgard for years, of the arching branches of the pomegranate trees, of Mama's face—which, sometimes, he finds himself forgetting—of the village square where the market had been set up, and he would play with the few other kids, most of them older than him, one or two a few years younger. He'd dreamed of the thinner mountain air, and the smell of lamb cooking, of watching his aunties weave the wool at the looms, and how he'd helped hang the dyed pieces of cloth up to dry_

_He'd had nightmares about it too. Of Mama's screams as the soldiers came. Of hiding in little cupboard spaces with his aunties, their babies tucked against their shoulders to shush their crying. And when they knew, without a doubt, that the soldiers were here, that they'd been found, the way the babies had feel silent, abruptly, because they'd killed their babies rather than have the humans take them. They'd taken enough, one of his aunties had said, crying as she had neared him with the knife, and it's better to die on your feet than live on your knees. The humans had come in then, had saved Yuan, and he remembers being violently sick with shame because he'd felt so grateful for them. He hadn't wanted to die. Auntie had been only partially right. It_ is _better to die on your feet than live on your knees, but living on your knees gives you the chance to live on your feet, if you fight for it)_

* * *

Sylph's Temple was full of open corridors and thin, branching columns. There were dozens upon dozens of wind chines of every material—wood, glass, metal—some clearly homemade, others masterworks of art, and they dangled in archways and from the rafters so that whenever the wind blew, music echoed through the corridors. There were openings in windows and walls to make music with wind too, like blowing on the lip of a glass bottle, and it made the most hauntingly lovely sound.

They didn't expect to find the outer rooms of the Temple overtaken with bedrolls, and makeshift tents, clotheslines hung in dizzying arrays. Dozens of people crammed together, refugees from various villages in the area, or escaped slaves.

"Yuan?"

The half-elf whirled at the sound of his name in a stranger's voice. Who would know him out here?

A girl ducked around some clotheslines—well, not a girl. Clearly a young woman, her hair pale blonde, tinged with red.

"Who—"

She grinned, her teeth uneven, but the energy dazzling. "I knew it was you. Don't have many folks with that kinda hair."

Yuan took in her thin face, trying to picture it almost fifteen years younger. "…Robyn?" She'd been one of the children in Asgard who'd grown up with him, several years younger, but always up for a day of adventuring with the older children.

Her grin widened. "Yup. But—" Her expression dropped a bit. "You're back. How did you—"Her eyes flicked to his arm, with its stark, black numbers. "Escape?"

Yuan resisted the urge to shift his arm so that the numbers weren't visible. "Me? What about you?" She hadn't been with him to the slave auctions, hadn't marched in those chains.

Her face shuttered away completely. "Auntie Paliya hid me in the caves. I don't even know how long I was there. Then the priestesses came to the village, looking for survivors, I guess and they heard me calling for them. I've been here ever since."

"Did anyone else make it?"

"A few did. They were hidin' with me. But—they've all died." Her mouth tightened, her eyes going shiny. "I'm the only one left."

Yuan's arms were around her before he thought about it. "No you're not."

She clutched at him tightly before beginning to sob. Yuan buried his nose in her hair, repeating the same thing over and over again. _You're not alone._

Martel gently tugged at Kratos' hand. "Let's leave them alone for a while."

* * *

There wasn't room for travelers, really. They only had two spare rooms, with all the refugees.

"This area got hit hard by the humans," one of the priestesses explained. She'd introduced herself as Diana. Her orange hair was kept in a long twist down her back, and there was an old scar running from her forehead, skipping over her eye, down her cheek and to her chin, making her lips look like they were always in a sort of half-grimace. The gentle lines in the corners of her eyes were either from sorrow or laughter, and it was hard to tell which. "From my understanding, the other Temples don't have this problem."

Mithos shook his head. "No. The Earth Temple had some, and so did Luna and Aska, but nothing on this scale."

"I'm not surprised. They're further from the fighting, and it's been a long time since the humans invaded them directly."

"How did you keep them away?" Kratos asked. "Why isn't this place in shambles right now?"

"They tried," Diana said, a vicious glint in her gray-green eyes. "But they found that our Temple won't be overtaken by them. This is our land, and we won't allow it."

Kratos had a sudden vision of the human armies marching up the mountains and being blown away by gale-force winds, their bodies crumpled and broken at the bottom of canyons. The priestesses knew the territory, and wind magic was especially effective, and difficult to work around. "I can imagine."

"This is probably presumptuous of us, but…I'm a summoner, and we're with the half-elven army." A lie, but not a big one. "I've been making pacts with the other Summon Spirits in order to help end the war, as well as promote peace."

"Gaining more strength is your idea of promoting peace?"

"They're two separate things. We need the strength to back us up if the peace talks don't work."

"Peace talks," she repeated. "I can't imagine those are going over very well."

"Did you hear about Ravenatele?"

"Yeah. We don't get much news out here, but a trader came by two weeks back and told us. Am I supposed to believe that was you?"

"Technically," Mithos said. "It was Kratos and Yuan who did all the negotiating. But we were prepared for a plan B if the negotiations went south."

"Which is where you come in. I see." She eyed Kratos. "You mentioned two names. Who's this…Yuan?"

"He's my brother," Kratos replied. "He's from Asgard, originally; he found a survivor from there, so we figured we would give them their space."

"Oh, Robyn? She's a sweet girl."

"She said she grew up here."

"Mm. She did. Where else was I gonna send her? These have been human occupied lands for fifteen years now. She and anyone I would have sent with her would have been killed or enslaved before they made it twenty miles. It will be good for her to speak with him."

"And vice versa," Kratos said, thinking of Yuan's face when he'd seen Robyn. Zaren had been the only other survivor from Asgard that Yuan had met, and that had turned…not well. Perhaps talking with Robyn would help Yuan move past Zaren's betrayal.

Diana's eyes softened a little, looking Kratos up and down. "You're not like any humans I've met before."

"Knowing the type of humans that have been through here, I can't say that that's saying much," Kratos replied dryly, wincing internally because he hadn't meant to say that. It was something Yuan would have said.

To his surprise, Diana laughed, a warm, deep sound. "You'd be right." She looked at Mithos. "I can't make the decision to allow you to learn our ways or not. I don't have the pact with the Sylph. But I'm sure Anish would be happy to talk to you, perhaps make a compromise."

* * *

"You're lying."

"Why would I be lying to you?" Yuan asked. Robyn had brought him to her room—not a tent, not after living here for nearly fifteen years. Robyn wasn't an official priestess, but she might as well have been. She knew the prayers, helped care for the altar, and was welcomed by all the other priestesses.

"Humans hate us. They destroyed our home, they—" Robyn's mouth snapped shut, unable to voice the memories.

"Not all of them are like that. Humans don't have a monopoly on evil. There are good humans, just like there are bad half-elves." Like Kratos, like Zaren.

Her eyes narrowed. "You talk different now."

"I _am_ different."

"I don't believe you. Humans ain't nice to our kind."

"We haven't exactly done them any favors either."

"…You find anyone else from Asgard?" Robyn asked, trying to steer the conversation to a safer subject. She didn't want to argue with Yuan; they'd only just found each other. They had to stick together; it's what you did. "When you was out traveling?"

"I found Zaren."

"That's gre—"

"He's dead," Yuan cut her off abruptly. "He died in a ranch."

He almost regretted his tone when he saw the way she flinched, but he couldn't bring himself to actually feel bad. He was sparing her the truth: that Zaren was a coward who'd betrayed them all to the humans who'd imprisoned him.

Yuan jumped as people shrieked, and both he and Robyn were on their feet, exiting the room to try and find the source.

Noishe was poking and hopping his way across the tent city, towards the upper levels where the residents of the Temple stayed. Yuan sighed, and hopped on a railing. His sharp whistle made Noishe turn, going straight for him.

Noishe balanced easily on the railing, nudging his beak at Yuan, as though trying to find evidence of harm. "I'm _fine_ , Noishe. You crazy bird." Noishe tilted his head, stretching his neck a bit to look around Yuan to where Robyn was standing, trembling at the sight of him. "Robyn, this is Noishe. Noishe, Robyn."

"That's a monster."

Yuan frowned a little. "Well that's just rude. Noishe is—well. He's not harmless. But he's not a threat." Noishe's beak tapped the top of Yuan's head in what he supposed was intended as a friendly gesture, but it hurt a bit. "Honestly."

"Yuan!" Both protozoan and half-elf tuned towards the familiar voice. Kratos came up the steps, looking a bit cleaner, like he'd had a chance to wipe away the dust of the road. "I should've guessed that Noishe would find you first."

"Yeah, because he starts a panic everywhere he goes."

Noishe chirped at him, eyes narrowing, and Yuan had the vague impression that he might be about to get kicked off his ledge.

"Mithos and Martel are talking to Anish about the details of the pact. I figured I'd come and find you."

"Who's Anish?" Yuan asked at the same time that Robyn said, "Anish agreed to meet with them? While _you_ were in the room?"

"Anish is the head priestess," Kratos explained. "She holds the pact." He looked at Robyn and held out a hand. "My name is Kratos. And you are?"

"Not impressed."

_(Kratos wonders if a smart mouth is something inherent to anyone from Asgard. It would certainly explain a lot.)_

Yuan sighed. It would be too much to hope for, that Robyn could see past her hatred and just see Kratos as he was, peace-loving and kind. "Kratos, this is Robyn, one of my neighbors from Asgard. Robyn, this is my best friend, Kratos Aurion."

The cold look on Robyn's face made Kratos withdraw his hand. _(It shouldn't bother him—and he's not_ surprised _by the reception—but that doesn't change the disappointment that curls in his chest every single time this happens. It makes Mithos' dream seem more and more impossible. Half-elves won't see him differently. He'll always be the child of their slavers, of the ones who murdered their children)_

He looked at Yuan, fighting the instinct to shuffle his feet. The capital had spoiled him. Even with the hatred that he'd gotten from the new faces that came into the city, the ones who'd known him had spoken in his defense, had shut down the automatic assaults on him. "I just came to check on you."

"Mother hen," Yuan teased, but it had no real bite. Noishe hopped down a moment after Yuan did. "But I'm good."

"Okay." Kratos didn't seem to quite believe him, but he believed enough that he was willing to let the subject drop for now. "I'll leave you guys to it then."

Yuan glanced at Robyn, who resembled an icy wall more than a person. "No, I'll go with you. Getting Sylph's pact should be a conversation for all of us, don't you think?"

Yuan wondered if Kratos' relief was that obvious, or if he simply knew him that well. More of the latter than the former, he decided. Kratos had a pretty good poker face when he wanted to have one, as some of the lads back in the capital had learned when inviting him to play cards.

"Martel will be glad to see you. You know how she fusses."

"That's hypocritical considering that you can fuss _almost_ as much as she does."

Kratos crossed his arms. " _You're_ the one that doesn't listen and that's why you need fussing."

_(Robyn stares at the both of them bickering. Had Yuan not been lying? They certainly seem close, and there's not a trace of fear in how close Yuan is standing to him, in how he's not afraid to playfully cuff him upside the head, and the way the human pushes him back with a burst of laughter. If she hadn't known better, she might really believe they were brothers)_

"We're gonna get going, Robyn," Yuan said. "Is it alright if I come visit you again?"

"You, yes. _Him_ , no."

"Should've figured," Yuan muttered. Then, louder, he said, "Alright. Have a good night then."

* * *

Anish was an older woman whose violet hair was streaked with silver. Her left hand was missing three fingers, and her right was a little deformed, as though it had been broken badly and never healed properly. She was in the midst of what seemed to have been a long argument with Mithos. When Kratos and Yuan slipped back into the room, Martel glanced at them, and from expression, her patience was beginning to run thin as well.

"I'm not trying to break your tradition," Mithos said for what must have been the sixth time. "Or to disrespect all that you've done here, but the war has gone on too long. I just want to put a stop to it, and I believe that Sylph's power can help us do that."

"That is childish thinking. More power doesn't lead to peace."

"What about when the humans come up the mountain?" Mithos demanded. "All of the priestesses know magic; you must fight them off somehow." Anish's eyes went hard, and Mithos knew he was right. "You have power that they don't, and that is what keeps them from attacking here, from turning this Temple into rubble. I'm trying to do the same thing."

"He has a point," Yuan volunteered. "Or are Sylph's disciples in the habit of hypocrisy?"

One day, Martel thought, Yuan was going to be punched by someone who didn't want to deal with that mouth of his. She wasn't so sure that he wouldn't deserve it.

Anish's sharp eyes slid to Yuan. "And you are…?"

Yuan caught Mithos opening his mouth, about to answer, but Yuan got there first. "Call me a concerned citizen. Unless you have some trick hidden up your sleeve, Mithos' solution is the best one we've had so far. It brought a peaceful resolution to the situation in Ravenatele, and it helped stop several attacks on villages in the desert. His success rate is climbing. How's hiding in the mountains working for you?"

"You overstep yourself. The people in my care are _alive_ which is more than I can say for most."

"Living in fear isn't actually living! Those people down there are waiting to die, waiting for the bombs to fall. They can't live without looking over their shoulders. They deserve peace of mind."

_(Mithos looks over at him, some shock in his eyes. Yuan is surprised at himself, quite honestly. He hadn't meant to say all of that. He hadn't even thought about any of it like that, but after seeing Robyn, and the tent city, and how paranoid everyone is—even more than the capital. The capital had been full of healthy paranoia and wariness, the understanding that they are a primary target for the humans—but here? These people don't trust anyone, afraid that the sky is going to fall on them)_

"And here I thought you were all talk," Anish said.

Yuan bristled. "Excuse me?"

"You understand the situation much more than I believed you would. I want that peace of mind for them too. The safety I've been able to guarantee them exists only with Sylph's power. If I give up the pact, this place is no longer safe."

"Teach them a different way," Martel said.

"What?"

"Those refugees, that's all they've been since they arrived here, right? You haven't taught them magic or how to fight. They've just been surviving down there?"

"Yes." Anish's brow was creased in confusion, her lips pursed.

"Then teach them to defend themselves. You guarantee them safety, sure. But that's something they can only trust to you. They haven't learned to trust their own strength yet. If you teach them to fight, to protect themselves and each other, they will feel more assured in themselves."

"And how do you expect me to teach them?"

"We don't," Kratos said suddenly. "We can teach them. Mithos can learn your traditions for the pact, but the three of us can teach them to fight, to work as a unit."

" _You_?" Anish snorted. "They'll sooner tear you to pieces than learn from a human."

"She's not wrong, Kratos," Yuan said quietly. "This isn't the capital. They've been eking out here, seeing monsters were humans are. Until they learn to trust you, I don't think it's a good idea for you to teach them."

"So then what? I'm supposed to sit here and do nothing?"

"Give us some time," Martel said, voice soothing. "Let them learn to trust us before we vouch for you."

"Can you agree to these terms?" Mithos asked Anish. "If your people can protect themselves, you don't need the Sylph to do it for them."

Anish was silent for a long moment, thinking. _(These people are very different from any she's ever met. They are passionate, and educated, and there seem to be no barriers between them when it comes to race. She wants that for her people)_ "…Yes, I believe I can."

* * *

"Your human friend shows a great deal of spirit," Anish began without preamble.

Yuan looked up from the list of inventory they'd been given. There wasn't much to work with, hardly a dozen serviceable swords to go around. There wouldn't be much point in teaching the refugees the sword if they didn't have one. "He has a name."

"Yes. Kratos Aurion." Anish pronounced it carefully, making the first _A_ a hard sound. "I recognized his face. He is a criminal, according to the posters."

"He's a good man," Yuan said hotly. "And his only crime has been helping half-elves."

"Your face is on the posters as well. Are you freedom fighters?"

"In a way. The military didn't agree with our methods, so we decided to do this on our own."

"Robyn says that you're from Asgard as well." She waited for him to nod. "How did you escape the attack?"

"I didn't," Yuan said shortly. "They put me in chains and marched me to the auctions. I was sold to the Aurion family for fifteen gald."

A loaf of bread cost more than he had. Abstractly, he could see the logic in it. He'd been a small, underfed child, couldn't read or write, and not strong enough to work the plow yet. But he'd had potential.

"And Aurion set you free?"

Yuan shook his head. "He ran away with me. Taught me mathematics, to read, taught me history. Got himself branded a traitor for it."

"I see. That's why you won't hear a word against him."

"He hasn't earned any antagonism towards him. All he's guilty of is trying to be a good fucking person." Being so close to Asgard had kept Yuan on edge. Was this how Kratos had felt, when they'd been in the human capital for the peace treaty? Always balanced between violence and cowardice? Fight or flight? Yuan had always leaned more towards fight anyway.

Anish barked a laugh, unperturbed by Yuan's venom. "You share a spirit with him. You both have a great deal of fire in you." She sobered again. "I didn't mean to insult either of you. I only wanted to understand. I didn't believe a human and a half-elf could be friends."

"We're walking, talking proof."

"So I see. I hope we can all learn from your example. It would be nice if we could all get along in peace."

* * *

"Are you feeling alright?" Martel's voice spoke into his shoulder as her arms came around his waist. Yuan had left the room the four of them were sharing, needing to _move_ , to _do something_. "You've seemed…tense…ever since we came here."

Yuan coverer her hands with his, leaning into her. "I don't know. Being so close to Asgard…it feels strange. I remember it in two very different ways and I don't think I know how to reconcile that."

"You aren't the boy you were back then. And you're not alone. We won't let old memories hurt you."

Yuan turned in her arms, biting his lip when she sputtered as some of his hair hit her nose. "Memories aren't physical. You can't stop them from hurting me."

"Watch me."

That made Yuan laugh; if anyone could do it, Martel could. He kissed her softly, thinking of the rings he kept tucked away in his pocket. "You are an incredible woman, Martel Yggdrasill."

"You should've realized that a long time ago." A smile ruined the haughty effect.

"Oh, I did. It just needs to be said aloud sometimes."

Martel snorted. "But seriously," she said, tracing a hand down his cheek, and coming her fingers through his hairline. "Are you okay?"

"Nothing I can't get over," he promised.

* * *

The refugees were resistant at first, which Yuan hadn't been expecting. Why wouldn't they want to be able to defend themselves?

"Because it's easier to stay the same," Kratos replied while Yuan paced back and forth in the room, ranting about the refugees. "They've found if a tolerable—if not comfortable—way of living here. They don't want to change."

"But, they don't know that this affects their way of living yet."

"No, but I think they can sense it. Think about it, Yuan—we showed up out of nowhere, and all they know about you is that you're from Asgard, and suddenly you're teaching them to defend themselves? They're not stupid."

"I still don't get it."

"It's a hard thing, to change. People have to want to. You can't make them do it." Kratos faltered at the widening grin on Yuan's face. "…Oh dear. What did you think of?"

"You're brilliant, Kratos. Know where Martel is?"

"More than likely? Down in the refugee camp taking a look at the injured and the sick."

"I'll see you at dinner!" Yuan called as he left Kratos in the room feeling rather dumbstruck and lost, as well as terrified of whatever Yuan's clever mind had come up with.

* * *

Martel listened to Yuan's entire plan. It made sense, but— "Let me talk to them first. See if I can get any sense in their heads."

He agreed, saying that if _she_ couldn't talk sense into them, no one could.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you Yggdrasills could talk the stars out of the sky if you were so inclined."

"And here I thought that Kratos was the poetic one."

Yuan shrugged. "I have my moments."

_(Despite her teasing, Martel rather likes the thought that her and Mithos' words are powerful enough to do anything)_

* * *

Mithos came down that morning with Martel, mostly just to listen to what she was going to tell them. He was getting so tall, her brother. Barely thirteen years old and already so strong, and so brave.

As they came down to the tent city, Martel felt a rift between her and the other hundreds of women there. It was a rift she'd felt for most of her life, but in the capital, in the military—surrounded largely by men—it hadn't bothered her as much. But here, facing down grandmothers and aunts and sisters, all with the same hard look in their eyes, she felt a bit inferior.

_(Martel tries to remember her mother the best she can. She knows she gets most of her looks from her father, but her smile—according to Papa—is her mother's. Her stubbornness is hers too, she remembers him telling her with a fond sigh._

_But Martel has been in charge of Mithos for most of her life. She doesn't know the things that women are supposed to know. She knows how to sew a wound, but if you ask her to do the same to a dress, it doesn't work out. Kratos is a better hand with clothes than her, if only marginally. She's not a_ terrible _cook, but she knows how to do more with hard tack and salt meats than she does with proper food. She can scrub blood out of anything, has washed behind her little brother's ears and made sure a comb went through his hair every now and again, but that has never been enough for too many people._

_She doesn't always feel comfortable in a dress. She's become too accustomed to tough breeches and boots. Her hair is a right mess, and she does what little she can with it. She doesn't know how to use the pretty face paints that she sees other women use from time to time. Her hands are calloused, her skin pockmarked with scars. She doesn't know how to keep her head down, to obey people. It's nothing she ever learned, and when she sees so many women—ragged and hard by the war, but still, women in the eyes of the world, secure in their place—she feels herself shrink, feels herself become the wandering orphan girl again)_

She was shoved in the shoulder, knocking her forward a few steps. "What the—"

An older woman glared at her. "You're a disgrace."

"Exc—"

"Oh lay off, Emily," another girl snapped, taking Martel's arm. "C'mon."

Martel and Mithos exchanged bewildered looks, but followed her to a tent. "I don't have much space," she said. "But you're welcome for as long as ya like."

"I'm sorry, I didn't get your name?"

She smiled, a shy thing. "Lilliana. And I a'ready know 'bout you two. Yer with the soldiers."

"Yes. My name's Martel. This is my little brother, Mithos." Martel took an offered seat of a rickety stool. "Yuan said that you guys didn't want to learn to fight."

Lilliana nodded.

"Why not?"

"No offense meant, but it ain't proper."

That had been the last excuse Martel had been expecting. "Proper," she repeated. "You think it matters at all out here, what's 'proper'?"

"It matters more." Another woman came from outside, older, lines beginning to etch themselves in her face. She introduced herself as Anita, Lilliana's aunt. "We don't have much out here, but we have our traditions."

"Some traditions need to be broken, _especially_ in times like these."

"Why is it improper?" Mithos spoke up. All three women looked at him.

"Why?" the older woman repeated.

"Yeah. There must be some reason why it isn't proper for women to fight. What is it?" His head was quizzically tilted, almost bird-like.

"It's not our place. Our men are out there, fighting for our freedom and our homes. They're putting their lives on the line. It's our job to keep doing what we do so that they have a home to come back to."

"Alright," Martel said. The logic was sound, if not outdated. "So they're fighting for your freedom. Sure. But you guys aren't stupid. You know the odds of them ever coming back are slim." She knew those odds, felt that terror every time her boys left her sight. What if it was the last time she ever saw them? "Then who have you got fighting for your homes and your freedom? Are you happy to let other people fight your battles for you?"

"Just because you're a disgrace, Ms. Yggdrasill doesn't mean we all are. The fact that men are ashamed to even be thought of as your husband is only further proof."

Martel stood, bristling. "You don't get to talk about me as if you know anything about me. I don't have a husband because Yuan and I haven't decided—collectively, since we both get an _equal_ say in our relationship—that we want to get married. And I joined the military because I was tired of waiting for other people to do something about the way we're treated, tired of watching other people fight and die so that I could live _cowering_ under a rock."

"And your son? Did you think about what kind of environment the military is for him?"

The wording made Martel pause. "I don't have a son. I don't have any children at all." She was well past the usual age that women usually had children. Twenty-six and not even married? 'Shameful' was the word most people used to describe her.

"You don't have to lie," Lilliana piped up. "It's okay. You're safe here."

"I don't have a son," Martel repeated.

"No? And what about him?" Anita asked, inclining her chin at Mithos. "You think we don't know what happens on the front lines? There ain't proper women out there—men miss their wives—but they'll take what they can get. And someone apparently settled for you."

"You're out of line," Mithos snarled at her. "Martel is the best sister anyone could ask for and she doesn't have to give a _damn_ about any of you, but she does. And you guys treat her like some kind of pariah for it. Martel's got nothing to be ashamed of, but you guys sure as hell do." He grabbed Martel's wrist and in her shock, she let herself be led away with him. "C'mon, Martel. Let's get out of here."

Once they had sufficiently distanced themselves, Martel gently extracted her hand from her brother's grip. He was still steaming, temper visible in the tense lines of him. She would still be pissed too, if it hadn't been for his display. "Y'know, _I'm_ the one that's supposed to look after _you_ , not the other way around."

Mithos shot her a look. "It's always been two ways, you know that."

Martel leaned her hips back against an archway, her smile a mixture of fond and sad. "You're right, I do know that. I wish it wasn't that way. You shouldn't have to deal with any of this."

"What—those bitches?" He knew the expression she was going to make before it actually appeared on her face. "I'm gonna call them what they are, Martel, if they're going to disrespect you like that! They're not even worth your time, I mean—they're so—so narrow-minded and _stuck_ in this stupid rut of tradition." His eyes narrowed at her with a sudden realization. "How long have people been treating you like that?"

She sighed. She tried not to lie to him—and she'd been doing pretty well with that, all things considered—but there were times where the truth was just a bone choking in her throat. "Years, Mithos. More or less for as long as I can remember."

"You mean since you've been taking care of me."

"It's not your fault," Martel told him firmly. "And it's not mine either."

"You could've had a normal life, if it weren't for me. You could've been a Healer in any of the dozens of villages we passed through growing up, but—they didn't want an 'improper' woman about. 'specially not a stranger."

Martel strode forward, taking Mithos' shoulders in a tight grip. "Look at me, Mithos Yggdrasill. I don't ever want to hear those kinds of thoughts coming out of you again, do you understand me? You are my brother, and I love you, and I wouldn't trade you for the world. Do I wish that our lives hadn't been this way? Yeah. But only because I'm tired of being treated like dirt. I wish we could've had a nice life, with a house of our own and you could've gone to school and had a chance to be a kid, but life isn't fair. We were dealt a crappy hand—there's no denying that—and we've done a hell of a lot with it. That's something to be proud of."

Mithos grinned lopsidedly at her. "There's the Martel I know."

She huffed a laugh and tugged him into a hug, kissing the top of his head. He was still rather short in height for thirteen, but his limbs were starting to grow, which made him clumsy, much to Yuan's amusement. "You're something else, Mithos. And thank you for protecting my honor, even though I didn't need you to."

"I wouldn't have tried to 'protect your honor'," Mithos gave her his very best mocking brother face. "If you would do more than just stand there and take it." He grinned at her again. "Man up, Yggdrasill."

She rolled her eyes and pushed him playfully away. "Oh please. Like men could do _anything_ half as well as I can."

 _(They don't mention specifics of what had happened to Yuan and Kratos. She tells Yuan that they're going to have to go with his original plan, which just makes him whistle because_ damn. _They must be stubborn sons of bitches if Martel can't convince them. But that just makes Yuan grin because he's always been very_ very _good at being more stubborn than other people)_

* * *

Martel was the one to shake Kratos awake the next morning, her hair braided back like they were back on the warfront. For a heart-stopping moment, Kratos was afraid that they were, but there was no urgency on her face or in her hands.

"Wha's happening?" Kratos yawned as he slid his legs out from under the blanket.

"Yuan's brilliant plan." From her tone of voice, she wasn't entirely sure it was brilliant, per se, but it was their best option.

"Are you going to tell me what this so-called plan is?"

Her eyebrows went up as he shrugged into his shirt. Despite the chill outside, it was warm inside the Temple. The Sylph blew in the warm ocean winds, Diana had said when he'd asked why. "He didn't tell you?" When Kratos just shook his head, she said, "Well, that's a first. And apparently, we're going to fight each other."

" _What?"_

"Not seriously," Martel assured. "I don't think I could beat you in a real fight anyway. It's more of a spar."

Even so, their family's version of sparring seemed to differ quite vastly from the others. "What's that going to accomplish?" Kratos had to hunt for his socks before pulling them on, nose wrinkling a little at the smell. Laundry needed to be done; perhaps he could do it today since, apparently, his help was otherwise unwelcome.

"He said you gave him the inspiration for the idea. About people having to want to change."

"I don't understand how this helps."

Her small smile made Kratos feel like he was fourteen and utterly lost in the world of understanding people again. "To those refugees, you're still a nightmare come to life. They recognize the rest of us as part of them. If they see that I can hold my own against you, that I can put you on your back, then they'll want to learn. They'll realize what Yuan has been trying to tell them, but sometimes, that sort of thing can't really be put into words."

"So—you want me to go easy on you?"

The sharp glare she sent him made his shoulder shrink in shame for even suggesting it. "Don't you dare."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

Yuan stared the refugees down. Most of them were women and children, which wasn't shocking, and some elderly. They were the people he'd grown up with; he hadn't known many men. Few came back from the war. He knew how to talk to them as one of their own, but that wasn't his position now. He thought of Sandor Aurion's incredible authority, and how he'd spoken to the room in the military school. He thought of how Kratos had spoken in Ravenatele, with that same subtle, commanding presence. He could try for that. But he wasn't very good at being subtle.

When most of the refugees were focused on him, he let his voice project. It wasn't quite shouting, but it was close. "There are reasons the men are the soldiers, right? We're bigger. Stronger. More suited to killing."

Murmurs of agreement.

"Women have their skills too. We've gotten quite the balance going, haven't we? But I see absolutely no reason why you shouldn't be able to defend yourselves." Yuan felt flashes of temper. "And you're all going to tell me some shit about it not being _proper_ , about not being able to handle a weapon. I've seen the things you guys use in the kitchen, and they're bigger than the knives given to soldiers. I've seen you when the humans came. Some of you fought. And you're going to tell me that you can't defend against the humans. They're stronger, more organized, they have the weapons. All true. But that doesn't mean you're powerless." Yuan's eyes slid across the crowd. Without looking at her, he called, "Martel?"

Martel stepped forward, as did Kratos. The murmurs stopped instantly at the sight of them, quietly circling each other. Her staff and his sword.

They came together powerfully, whipping around each other. They were matched in terms of speed, but Martel's staff gave her the longer reach. Kratos, however, had more skill, and his sword had an edge.

They ducked and dipped, Kratos having to move quickly to avoid her staff, and to dart back in with his sword. He gasped when a strike came to his ribs, knocking the breath out of him, but he managed to block the next few strikes as he struggled to get his breath back.

They both laid hits on each other in quick succession, but nothing that would cause lasting damage. A bruise on the outer thigh, a thin cut on the shoulder. Kratos had to work hard not to grin at the challenge; Martel wasn't a warrior the way most people saw it, but she was a good fighter, calculating and clever. She knew she was at a physical disadvantage, and she used it, but her staff more than made up for any difference in reach. Six feet long and made of sturdy oak.

He used his free hand to guard against her staff, coming around with his sword. The tip caught her cheek, a bright line of blood blooming there. Kratos ducked under a strike, aiming for her legs, but the other side of the staff came, and while he managed to get his arm out to jam it, it threw him off balance. As he stumbled to regain it, Martel was after him, a flurry of movement. Kratos darted out of her range and came back around, stabbing in. It caught her in the elbow, making her hand spasm. With one side of the staff neutralized, Kratos went in closer, but he hadn't expected Martel to drop the staff altogether, grabbing hold of his collar and flipping him over her shoulder.

His sword went flying from his grasp with the impact, and though he went for the knife in his boot, she got there first, pressing one knee into his ribs and the knife to his throat.

"I yield," Kratos said loudly enough for the crowd to hear him, his hands above his head, fingers splayed.

Martel shifted herself off of him, dropping the knife so she could help him up with her good arm. "I told you not to go easy on me."

"I didn't," he told her honestly. "Where did you learn to throw someone like that?"

She grinned at him, the cut on her cheek making an eerie red highlight. "The Shadow monks. They're used to being smaller than their opponents, so they developed a lot of ways to deal with that."

"Brilliant," Kratos murmured. He hadn't even seen it coming. "Will you teach me?"

"Of course."

They bowed to each other, out of respect and in thanks for the trust necessary to use each other's bodies for training, before going to retrieve their weapons. When Kratos glanced up, Yuan was smirking, even as he called out, "Any more objections?"

* * *

Though Kratos didn't have to, he knocked on the door to the room the four of them shared. There was simply no space for more people in this Temple. Martel had been—not upset, but something had certainly been off since their spar that morning.

She looked up from where she was seated on one of the cots, her medical kit in front of her. She caught the look on his face. "Is something wrong?"

"You tell me." Kratos sat on the cot beside hers; they'd tried pushing them together. All they'd succeeded in doing was making Mithos laugh hard enough to snort water out his nose when the cots collapsed out from under them. He watched her gently dab at the cut on her elbow with rubbing alcohol, hissing at the pain. "…How badly did I hurt you?"

"Not terribly," Martel assured him. "It bled a bit, but it'll scab and heal over in a few days." She eyed him up and down. He'd taken a bath after they'd sparred, had taken the time to shave and be annoyed at his hair—again. This was almost a daily occurrence—and he'd appreciated having proper soap instead of just quick rinses in rivers. "How're the bruises?"

He'd looked quite the sight in the mirror when he'd shaved. His left thigh was a mass of purple and blue—an opening that Martel had taken full advantage of over and over. He had to fix that; if she'd had anything with a blade on it, his leg would be halfway amputated right now. There was a nasty looking bruise on his forearm from that final jam, and his collarbone would be sore for several more days, but overall no lasting damage.

"Expansive," Kratos settled on, and Martel laughed.

"Sorry about that."

"Don't be. They're all well-earned."

She huffed, but didn't argue. "You went easy on me."

"I told you I didn't."

"That's a poor choice of words." Martel frowned, and Kratos took the bandages from her slack hands, dressing her wound. "It's more like you didn't go all out."

"If I went all out, I might have killed you," Kratos pointed out quietly.

"But you held back more than necessary didn't you?" she shot back. "There were half a dozen openings you didn't take."

"If I took them, I could have hurt you."

"You don't trust your control?"

"In general, yes. But in a challenging fight like that? No. I don't need to hold back against my enemies, and I'm afraid that that makes me sloppy."

"I don't think you could hurt me. Not seriously."

"I'm glad you think so, but I don't."

"Those half a dozen openings—enemies would exploit them. By not taking them to show me my weaknesses, you're only hurting me."

Kratos winced, knowing she was right. That was what all of his bruises from her had been: reminders to guard his weak places. By not doing the same to her, he'd been disrespectful and doing her a disservice. "I'm sorry."

Martel softened, combing his damp hair away from his face. "Is it because I'm a woman?"

"Probably," he replied wryly. "It's been fifteen years, but some ways of thinking are hard to break. Human women don't fight in the military. They're allowed to be nurses, but that's about it."

"I wish I could say it was different for us. The only reason we're allowed in our military is if we prove ourselves useful." Like she had, with her Healing, and her affinity for light magic. And even then, look at how she'd been received by other women. If she hadn't had her boys with her when she'd joined, she would've had a hard time with the men she served with too.

"It's ridiculous. The idea that anyone is better than anyone else because of some natural predetermined quirk of nature is insane."

She smiled fondly at him. "You are quite the anomaly, Kratos."

He blinked, looking so much younger than twenty-six. "Why?"

"You defy nature at every turn. Born human, but you call half-elves your family. Born rich, but you don't claim your birthright. Born male, but you don't see yourself as naturally superior at all. I think it would be a kinder world if more people were like you."

Kratos flushed at the praise, not entirely sure how to take it. "I don't think I'm that special," he said, dabbing at her cheek with the rubbing alcohol.

"No, you wouldn't would you?" Martel stood, brushing a kiss on Kratos' forehead. "It's part of what makes you a good man. Don't let that change."

* * *

The Temple baths were fed from hot springs deeper in the mountains. Yuan loved it, and enjoyed soaking in the water, particularly after having trained so many people today. Hot water and soap. It was the simple things in life, he decided.

He'd dozed off when he felt someone enter the room, and that someone yelped at the sight of him. "Sorry!"

Yuan jumped to cover his nakedness—it wasn't like he usually walked around naked with Martel, Mithos, and Kratos, but they were all used to each other, and they'd all seen each other in various stages of undress often enough that some nudity didn't really bother them—and he was startled to find Robyn and another woman turned away.

"We didn't know someone else was in here."

"Or rather, you didn't realize a man would be in here," Yuan said, slipping out to grab a towel. There weren't many men among the refugees, and the baths were communal.

"Well, no."

Yuan wrapped the towel around his waist. Kratos had taken the clothes to do laundry, and Yuan wasn't particularly looking forward to walking through the Temple corridors in a towel—a fairly large towel, thank Sylph for small blessings—but he'd had worse. It was just going to be really _cold._

"Enjoy your bath, ladies."

He heard giggling behind him, and it took some force of will to not turn and give them an odd look.

* * *

"I heard Martel kicked your ass," Mithos said as they sat down to dinner.

"Language," Martel scolded.

"Kicked your butt," Mithos amended, with an approving nod from his sister.

"Absolutely." Kratos didn't have much pride, honestly. He knew he was a good fighter, but there was always someone better. And it had been a really impressive flip. "She was badass."

Martel shot him a look—gee, where did Mithos learn his curses from?—and Kratos just took a sip of his soup to hide his smile, even as Mithos did the same.

"Most beautiful thing I'd seen all day," Yuan agreed. "And it worked. You're something of a star now, Martel."

"I'm sure," she replied dryly. "Did you hear anything about their feelings of Kratos?"

"Still antagonistic. But at least they're not scared stiff anymore. Fear makes people freeze. Anger—now _that_ we can work with."

"Should I be afraid of being killed in my sleep?" Kratos asked. It wasn't entirely a joke.

"Nah. They're still kind of afraid of you. They just have hope now."

"How did the first day go?"

Yuan shrugged. "About as well as could be expected. Grumbling, arguing, reluctance. One tripped over her skirt."

Martel stared at him. "Please tell me you didn't suggest she make it shorter."

Yuan blinked. "Well, of course I did. If those long skirts are going to keep getting tangled…up…oh."

"Yeah, oh. Good job. Now they thing that you're a lecher."

"But—they know I'm with you, don't they?"

"Darling," Martel drawled, amusement shining in her eyes. "You're one of the only men these women have seen in—I'm gonna say months at the very least—and you're not exactly hard on the eyes. They're going to take any implication they can get as an invitation."

"I—oh. _Oh._ "

Kratos sighed, sensing his best friend's distress. "What happened?"

"So—the baths."

"They caught you?"

"Yeah. Robyn and another woman. I didn't know her name. They giggled at me."

"Both of them?"

"Yeah." Martel snickered, and Mithos' smile was getting too wide to hide with his spoon. _"What?"_

"Do you want a lady's perspective?" Martel asked.

"I'd settle for yours," Yuan shot back, which sent Kratos and Mithos laughing.

"You're lucky I love you. Otherwise, I'd just leave you to suffer."

"You just don't want them encroaching on your territory. Wait—are you _jealous_?"

"Of course not," Martel sniffed. "Nothing to be jealous about."

The implication of what would happen to the women if there was something to be jealous of hung in the air and Yuan had never been more grateful that he'd never been the type of man to fool around with other people.

"And besides which—the women should know better anyway."

Yuan's brow furrowed. "Know better than what?"

"To try and be with you." Martel leaned her chin in her palm. "You're charming, and clever, and we've all established that you're decently handsome—"

" _Dece_ —that's rich, coming from the woman who's dating me!"

"I'm being realistic. I love you, and I think you're handsome, but there are better looking men out there, A, and B, not everyone has my good taste. Now if you would let me finish—" With Yuan looking properly mollified, for now anyway, Martel continued. "And while all that paints a very nice picture, you are rather…distant."

"Distant?" Kratos echoed Yuan's question.

"Not in that you don't care about people, or that you don't pay attention to them," Martel said hurriedly. "But even without me in the picture, it's obvious—or it should be—that you're not planning to stick around. You've got other things to focus on, and you _are_ focused on them. Maybe some of these women are looking for company just for a night or two—not that I think you would do that—but most of them that actually want a man to stay."

"You sound very well informed."

Martel smiled crookedly. "I'm a Healer. There were days where all I listened to was gossip from the other women helping us out, or after a flood of refugees came in." _(She won't tell him about the things that Anita had said to her, had accused her of. It's a Mithos-and-Martel secret. They don't have many of those anymore. It's not like, if Yuan asks, she won't admit to it, but she has no intention of telling him outright)_

"The sad part's that she wasn't even wrong about any of it," Yuan said, though it was mostly directed at Kratos.

Kratos just shrugged, setting his spoon against the edge of his empty bowl. "What would we know about how women's minds work? Martel's the interpreter."

"It's kinda sad," Mithos said, grinning at them. "'cause they're not that hard to figure out."

"Tell me that again after your voice drops, kid," Yuan said, earning a scowl. "But in all seriousness, are you willing to help out with the training tomorrow, Martel?"

"I need to stop by the Kimt family first. Apparently they wanted to talk to a Healer about something. But afterwards, sure."

"You won't see me around much tomorrow," Mithos told them. He'd learned his lesson; he didn't want to leave without telling the others where he was. He wasn't sure he wouldn't freeze again, alone in the darkness. They'd broken him out of it in Shadow's Temple, but he doubted he was cured of the fear. "Anish wants to take me on some mountain expedition tomorrow, out of bounds of the Temple. She says it's sacred ground, and that's where we have to start."

"That'll be a fun trek, I'm sure," Yuan said, thinking of the mountains that covered this entire region. This Temple alone was scattered across cliffs with dozens of stairs carved into the mountainsides, leading down to the lowlands where the refugees had settled. "Just—don't trip. It's a long way down."

* * *

Yuan wasn't wrong, Mithos thought as he followed Anish up the mountain. They were up high, near the peaks now, and he was grateful for the wool coat she'd lent him. It was even snowing gently, and this clearing was barren of most vegetation. Linkite trees grew all across the mountains, and some scragglier trees as well, but overall, there wasn't much living out here. In the distance, and several hundred feet down, Mithos could see the roof to the altar room that Anish had taken him to. It was open on all sides, painted wooden panels swinging on all sides when the winds blew, with a high ceiling.

"Take a seat," Anish told him, gesturing to the center of the clearing.

Mithos obeyed, waiting for further instructions, but Anish was already turning away. "Wait—what am I to do?"

Anish looked back at him. "I already told you."

"You told me to sit." Mithos wondered if he'd missed something.

"Yes, I did."

"I don't understand."

"Sit. Listen to the wind. Feel it. Know its movements."

"I can't _not_ listen to the wind," Mithos pointed out. The Linkite trees sang almost all the time out here.

"You're hearing it," Anish agreed. "But you're not _listening_. I'll return for you. Don't leave until I do."

And just like, Mithos was left alone.

He tried. For the record, he really did try. He watched the leaves, searching for patterns. He listened to every note the Linkite trees sang until he could whistle it back by memory. He grew bored, watching and listening, his fingers going stiff from the chill.

He entertained himself by making several balls of witchlight and making them dance in tune to the trees, changing their colors in accordance with the different notes.

Mithos remembered something he'd been told in the desert, about the mirages that were so common to the unwary travelers. They were tricks of light—a mix of heat and air that made the eye see strange things. There were dozens of stories where sorcerers created illusions to fool their adversaries. Mithos wondered if he could accomplish the same thing.

That was how Anish found him hours later, struggling to create much of anything. He'd gotten a few distortions in the air, like a street on a hot day, but otherwise, nothing.

"This is what you waste your time with?" Anish demanded. "Parlor tricks?"

Mithos was a little insulted that Anish considered illusions parlor tricks when he was having such difficulty with them "What did you expect?"

"You have no respect for our traditions and you make a mockery of your training."

Mithos wanted to look away from the blazing green light that was Anish's mana. "I have a lot of respect for your culture, your people and for this opportunity to train, but I have _been_ listening to the wind. I feel it everywhere I go in this place! I don't need to know this!"

Anish's face turned to stone. "You believe you don't need to know this?" she repeated.

Doubt crept in down Mithos' throat, but he couldn't back down now. "No. I don't."

"Very well. Ready yourself."

"For what?"

"Since you believe that you do not need this, you will fight the Sylph this evening. At sunset."

* * *

Mithos winced at the expression on Martel's face when he told them the news. "You should know better than to be so disrespectful."

"But it's the truth!"

"That doesn't matter! You hold your tongue. We are their guests and learning from them is a great honor."

"Yes ma'am," Mithos mumbled. Martel was the only person who could make him feel three inches tall.

"So we fight the Sylph, huh?" Kratos glanced over to Yuan. He seemed to be more put together, but Kratos wasn't fooled. Being here still had him on edge.

"You'll probably be our best asset," Mithos said. "Between our earth magics, we should be able to put up a good amount of resistance."

"My magic is isn't very strong, remember? Especially not compared to a Summon Spirit. I doubt I'll even make a dent."

"That's why you have us, Kratos." Yuan rolled his eyes. "It's called working as a team. You think you would've figured that out by now."

Kratos cuffed Yuan over the head. "The hard part, I imagine, will not be being blown off the mountain."

"I could add some gravitational spells to us," Mithos said thoughtfully. "To make us heavier."

"Can you do that?"

"In theory."

Yuan shook his head. "We don't have the luxury of theory. Besides, even if you could do it for sure, we don't have time to practice with the extra weight. We'd likely just lose faster."

"Let's try and avoid that, shall we?" Martel leaned her forearms on her thighs. "No amount of preparing is going to make us ready for tomorrow. It's do or die."

Yuan snorted. "Since when are you so fatalistic?"

"Since my brother is stupid enough to get us into this situation."

Mithos wanted to retort, but really, she was right. This situation was of his own making, and they had less than twenty-four hours to prepare to fight the Sylph. "The best plan we have is 'don't die'."

Kratos' grin was a little mocking, a sort of dark humor that didn't completely belong to him. "We're great at that plan. Twenty-six years unbroken record so far."

* * *

Mithos woke in the infirmary sore and with very few memories of what had happened. Blinking hurt, but his whole head did. He tried to turn, but when his vision swam, he decided against it.

"Welcome back." Diana came into his line of vision. "Can you speak?"

He tried, but his throat felt thick and cottony.

"Blink once for yes, twice for no."

One.

"Is it because you can't speak or would some water clear it up?"

Two.

"The second one. That's a normal side effect of the medicine we gave you. Makes you feel stuffy, right?"

One blink.

"That'll fade. Do you know where you a…"

When Mithos next awoke, the light on the ceiling beams was flickering. Candles, probably. Moving his head didn't make him dizzy, so he turned to see Martel asleep with her head cradled in her arms, elbows just barely touching his leg.

It took him a few tries to move his leg properly since it had fallen asleep. Martel jerked awake and guilt stabbed into his stomach at the dark circles beneath her eyes. She'd been sleeping so much better lately…

"Mithos." Her voice was relieved, even if it did sound tired. "You've been out for a week. Diana told me that you woke up for a bit in the beginning, but you fell unconscious again."

"Wha' happ—" It hurt to speak more than that.

Martel got him a glass of water with the bustling efficiency of a Healer, but the concern on her face was all motherly. She helped him sit up to take a few slow sips. "We fought the Sylph. You hit your head when you got caught up in one of their spells. Do you remember that?"

"Vaguely." His voice sounded hoarse to him, but the water helped a lot.

"Do you know your name?"

Mithos wanted to be exasperated with Martel, wanted to tell her that he was _fine_ , but he knew the routine as well as she did. "Mithos Yggdrasill."

"How old are you?"

"Twelve."

"Do you know the date?"

Mithos had to think about that one. "August?"

"September started while you were out, but yes." She met his eyes. "Do you know who I am?"

"Martel, if I ever forget _you_ then I'm in big trouble," Mithos laughed, the sound scratching his throat.

"Had to ask. How do you feel?" Her fingers gently probed the back of his head.

"Like I got run over by a team of horses."

"Sounds about right."

"What about you? Were you hurt?" His eyes combed over her, searching for signs of injury.

"I'm fine."

" _Now_ you are." It had been a week, she said. That was plenty of time for Healing magic to wipe away any trace.

"It was a lot of cuts, mostly. Nothing deep, nothing that needed stitches, even." Now that Mithos knew what, exactly, to look for, he could see the faint shine of mostly healed cuts on her cheek, hands and arms. "And before you ask, Kratos and Yuan are fine too. Kratos got slammed against a wall and his arm was fractured, but it's healing nicely. Yuan got a bit more cut up than I did."

Mithos' eyes went to his hands on the scratchy blanket. "I'm sorry. You guys got hurt because of me. Because I was too proud to listen."

"We did," Martel agreed. Of all the sins her brother was guilty of, pride was certainly one of them. And wrath. "But it's not _all_ on you. We chose to fight with you."

"Still mostly my fault."

"Yeah. But we all came out of it alive and—hopefully—you learned something from all this."

Mithos snorted humorlessly, thinking of how, for once, they'd been lucky. "Yeah. Definitely."

* * *

When Mithos went to Anish and knelt on the floor to bow, apologizing and asking for another opportunity to learn, she arched an eyebrow. "After all that, you still want to try again?"

_(She had entered the altar room to find Yuan and Martel staggering to their feet, Kratos conscious, but not moving from his place against a pillar, face screwed up in pain. Mithos had been unconscious on the floor and Anish had feared that she'd killed him, but, she'd resolved, this has been the price to pay for not following tradition for centuries. If the Sylph had wanted to kill them, Anish thinks, they would all be dead)_

"I don't have the luxury of quitting, and even if I did, I have no desire to."

Anish made a thoughtful noise. He was a stubborn one, that was for sure. "Very well."

* * *

Yuan realized someone was following him from the seamstress a while back. It wasn't like they were being subtle. Finally, about halfway back up to their shared room, Yuan spun abruptly, making his pursuer freeze.

He had to smile despite himself. His pursuer looked about five, with a head of frizzy black curls and brown eyes. "Hello," he said. He got a shy wave in return. Odd, for someone bold enough to follow him. He crouched down so that they were about eye level. "Are you lost?"

A shake of the head.

"Can you speak?"

A nod.

"Just don't feel like talking to me, or are you afraid?"

She puffed up with all the indignant fury of a newborn kitten.

"Not scared then. Okay. Were you planning on following me the whole way?"

A nod.

"Well, how about you walk with me then? I'm new around here, and I would feel much safer with someone as brave as you around." He held out a hand. "I'm Yuan."

"Vanessa." Her voice was so soft, he could barely hear her.

"Vanessa, huh? I bet you're a Nessa. Is that what people call you?"

A nod.

"Can I call you that?"

Another nod.

"Okay, my brave knight Nessa. Care to escort me?"

She smiled, displaying a missing tooth, and took his hand.

Kratos only raised an eyebrow at them when Yuan came through the door with Vanessa in tow. "Bringing home strays?"

"Kratos this is my _daring_ rescuer, Vanessa—Nessa, if you will. Nessa, this is my brother, Kratos."

Vanessa hid a bit behind Yuan's leg, but Kratos waved at her, and she smiled. "It's very nice to meet you, Nessa. Thank you for bringing my brother home safe. He usually gets into a _lot_ of trouble on his own."

Vanessa eyed him curiously. "Like what?"

* * *

They spent what must have been hours in that room. Yuan helped Kratos sew up their ripped clothes from the road, patching up the holes and debating whether some were too far gone to save. Kratos' arm was mostly healed, according to Martel, but it would need a few more days of rest to be back up to one hundred percent. Vanessa sat beside Kratos on his cot, listening to his imaginative and increasingly ridiculous stories about Yuan's supposed mischief on the road. At one point, there was a green bear that attacked, his claws sparkly like the stars. That one was Vanessa's favorite.

Somewhere in all that, Vanessa started talking too, telling them about her adventures in the Temple with the other children as they explored—even though they apparently weren't supposed to go in many areas, but that didn't stop them—and how a boy named Jeremiah was really annoying.

"Why did you follow me today?" Yuan asked finally, knotting a finished seam.

"Mama talks 'bout you a lot. Wanted to meet you."

From the way she spoke, Yuan was willing to bump her age to about seven or eight. That, or there was another child genius like Mithos on the loose and Spirits help them all.

"That's dangerous," Yuan scolded. "You shouldn't follow strangers, especially by yourself."

"But I'm brave!"

"You are," Kratos agreed. "But that doesn't mean that you shouldn't be careful. Not everyone is a nice person.

"I know that."

Kratos remembered who he was talking to. A refugee child. Who knew what she'd seen, even at such a young age? "That means you should be doubly careful."

"But Mama said Yuan was a nice man."

They didn't really have an argument for that one. What were they going to tell her, not to listen to her mother?

It was an hour later that Robyn burst into the room. "Martel said I could find you here—my daughter's missing, her name's Vanes—"

"She's here," Kratos-and-Yuan chorused, even as Vanessa waved, shoulders shrinking.

"Nessa!"

"Hi, Mama." But Nessa didn't get any closer. If anything, she shrunk more behind Kratos, waiting for the inevitable scolding.

Robyn dropped to one knee in front of her—probably the closest she'd ever come to Kratos of her own will—running her hands over her, checking to make sure she wasn't injured. "Nessa, baby girl, are you okay?"

"Of course, Mama. Yuan and Kratos kept me safe." Vanessa beamed.

"Did you get lost?"

"No. I followed Yuan. You said he was a nice man."

"Baby girl, even if I say they're a nice person, you don't go running after someone unless I tell you it's okay, and only if someone knows where you are. I was worried."

Vanessa fidgeted with the hem of her dress, not quite meeting her mother's eyes. "Yes, Mama."

"Now come on, we need to get going. It's almost time for dinner."

"Do we _hafta_ go? Kratos was in the middle of a story and I wanna know how it ends."

Robyn glanced at Kratos; he refused to look away, but there was something icy in the depths of her eyes. "You'll have to get it another day. We can't be late for dinner. The Riands are waiting for us."

Vanessa slid off the bed dejectedly, taking her mother's hand, but waving goodbye to Yuan and Kratos. "Buh-bye."

"Enjoy your dinner," Kratos told her with a smile that felt only partially forced. _(He knows that there is no stopping hatred. Not for good. He knows that while the new generations may understand and learn that there can be peace among the different races, the old generations will always have their hatred, their prejudice. He knows that even Yuan is guilty of it, despite how open he is to the idea of peace. Yuan's heart can be very hard, and forgiveness is something he is not known for)_

* * *

Kratos was scrubbing at a particularly stubborn stain when Robyn found him, a basket of her own laundry at her hip. A stream ran down from a spring a bit higher up the mountains, and that was where the Temple got its water.

"Vanessa won't stop talking about you." Robyn's voice was colder than the water numbing Kratos' fingers.

"She's a clever girl. You've raised her well."

"She's not mine," Robyn snapped, taken off guard. She didn't know how to handle the human's calm demeanor, the way he refused to rise to her bait.

Kratos blinked at her, looking genuinely confused. "I never said she was." He judged the stain again, added a bit more soap, and continued scrubbing. "It's been my experience that family is more who you choose rather than who is related to you by blood."

"She told me that Yuan called you his brother."

"He did. And he's my brother too." Kratos sat back on his heels, looking up at her. "I know that I can't convince you to let go of your hatred for humans. That's something only you can do. But can I convince you to let me show you that not all of us are the same, just like not all half-elves are the same?"

"You don't call us half-breeds," Robyn observed.

"No. It's rude. And it's not excuse, but the reason that most humans do call you that? They don't any better. The way humans are taught, in their schools, is that your people are savage half-breeds who need 'the light of civilization'." The look on his face told her volumes about his thought on the subject. "They don't know any better. And they make half-elves hate them because they don't know how to treat people that are different."

"You don't talk like you're human." He always said 'them'. Like he wasn't part of them.

"Technically, I'm not." A strange little smile played at the corner of his lips.

She narrowed her eyes at him; a question.

Kratos leaned back enough to pull up his shirt. There was an old scar stretched across his stomach. It was deadly-looking, but that Martel—she was a Healer. But Healing couldn't fix everything. "This almost killed me. I needed blood, or I wouldn't have made it." He dropped the shirt, a fond tilt to his lips. "Yuan stepped up, apparently. I don't remember—I was too far gone—but he demanded they use his blood to save me. So I'm not human either. Not completely."

"Prove it."

She didn't know why she said it, but he just blinked at her for a moment, surprised, before saying, "Okay." With a word, he summoned a ball of witchlight, making her jump. Magic. Humans couldn't do magic.

But he did it almost effortlessly. And the little light is still there, hovering a foot in the air over the stream, its soft glow nearly lost in the afternoon sun.

The light dimmed and died quickly, not much mana having been put into it. "Believe me now?"

Robyn had been staring at the witchlight, but she shifted her eyes to him. There was something almost—mischievous—about that look on his face, and then she remembered Yuan as he was now. A stranger, nothing like the boy she'd known. Confident, charming, passionate. A warrior. Friends—brothers, according to them—with a human. The look on the human's face matched the Yuan that she didn't know. They were like two sides of a coin, Robyn thought. Undoubtedly different, but connected.

"I'll—I forgot something in my room."

It was a retreat, but Robyn refused to think of it as cowardly.

* * *

"Your boy is quite brilliant."

While Martel was quite aware of who Diana was talking about, after the accusations that Anita and Lilliana had been throwing around, she was quite happy to play ignorant. "Who?"

"Mithos." Diana grabbed another mortar and pestle and began to grind down another set of herbs. "Anish is quite pleased with his progress."

"That's good."

"Look, Martel, I'll be quite honest with you—"

"That sounds refreshing," Martel muttered. She didn't mean to say it aloud, but Diana only smirked a little. _(She likes Diana, honestly. She likes how forward she is, likes the way the scar twists her face, the way that she still finds things to laugh at in these hard times. But this place grates on her temper)_

"I've spoken with Anish on this subject a bit too, and I think you and Mithos are a good fit for this place. I know that Mithos is quite set on making the pact—which is good. The traditions should always be passed down to new generations—but…you don't have to leave after the pact is made. You're welcome to stay."

"We're not staying without Yuan and Kratos."

"Heh. I thought you'd say that. Yuan is welcome of course too, but Kratos—"

"Because he's human, he can't stay?"

"I personally don't believe he's a danger to us. He seems like a good man. However, I don't think many other people will agree with me. I'm a leader of the community. I have to do what's better for the majority, not just what I think."

"You should have the courage to make the proper decision and set an example," Martel snapped. She'd woken up with cramps and it was making her rather crabby. Yuan—who was used to dealing with this more or less once a month—had made her some tea and grabbed the extra blankets once Kratos and Mithos were awake to throw them over her that morning.

"I take it that that means you won't consider the offer?"

Martel couldn't imagine living in this place. The very thought made her skin crawl. The Temple itself might have been a decent place, but not with the other refugees here. They were different than the capital, or even in general, the other refugees she'd known. They'd managed to build their own bubble of the world here, and stodgy traditions had somehow managed to take root.

"No."

Martel wanted to settle down somewhere one day, true. She'd die before it was a place like this.

It had been nearly a month into their stay in the Temple—time that had been spent training the refugees and getting used to sleeping with a roof over their heads—that Yuan finally decided that the itch under his skin wasn't going to go away. He'd woken plenty of times in the night to dreams of Asgard, of seeing it burn. Sometimes he saw it as it was; before the humans came. Whole, with the pomegranates heavy on the trees, and Mama on her good days. Zaren. Zaren when he ruffled Yuan's hair and gave him a hug before going out to the fields with the herd. Playing cards on rainy days. _(They're not good dreams, either variation. He wakes shivering, and Martel is by his side, her hands gentle where she touches him, but she doesn't know how to help with these. She knows battlefields and dead friends. She doesn't know how to help with destroyed homes and traitor brothers)_

"I want to see Asgard again," Yuan told Diana. "But—I don't remember the way."

Diana's eyes softened. _(A man in body and spirit he might be, but his heart is still tender, like a boy's)_ "I know the way. I was one of the ones who went to check for survivors. I am willing to take you, but the way is dangerous for just us."

"I want to take my family."

Diana found it incredibly odd how willing Yuan was to call a human his brother, his family. But then, Kratos had spoken of Yuan in the same way. She smiled faintly. "I'm sure they would be glad to see it."

* * *

"Do you think this is a good idea?" Mithos asked Kratos quietly as they prepared for bed. Yuan and Martel had left for some time to themselves. "Yuan hasn't been back to that village since the day it was attacked. It might not work out well for him."

"By that same logic, it might help him."

"Like lancing a wound."

"Exactly like that."

Mithos tugged on a nightshirt, untucking his hair where it got stuck in the collar. "I hope you're right."

* * *

Asgard had been blasted apart. Stones were melted, and there were deep scars carved into the mountainsides. Yuan was stuck standing at a deep canyon in the center of the town.

"What is it?" Mithos asked.

"This wasn't here, before. Our market used to be here."

Damage like that could only be from the Mana Cannon. Kratos tried to picture being here when the attack came, to feel something so powerful hit and not having a name for it. The idea was terrifying. It would seem like some kind of divine wrath.

There were still remnants of buildings left standing. Many had been built into the mountains themselves, and those were largely intact. Martel picked her way across one such house, her heart breaking at the remnants of families. Broken furniture, tattered quilts, children's toys twisted and bent.

Something squished under Kratos' boot. He crouched, almost afraid to look; it was some kind of fruit. He remembered Yuan telling him about the pomegranate trees he would climb, and he wondered if this had been one. The trees were mostly dead and bare now, save for one or two that had some green to them. Perhaps it had fallen from one of those.

Kratos found Yuan on the other side of the canyon, standing in front of a mostly-intact building built into the mountain. It was further from the canyon, so it made sense that it had escaped much of the damage.

"Was this your home?" Kratos asked quietly.

"I can't go in there, Kratos," Yuan choked out.

"You don't have to. But if you want to," Kratos took Yuan's hand in his, like they'd done as children. "I'll go in with you."

Yuan stared at Kratos as though he'd never seen him before.

"You're not alone," Kratos reminded him, squeezing his hand.

_(Not alone. He's not alone. He escaped. He's free, with his family beside him. He is not the boy trapped in chains, is not cowering in a cupboard, waiting to die)_

"Okay."

Kratos stepped with Yuan inside the building. There had been a fire here. Soot dusted the walls, and the wooden furniture was split and cracked.

"We lived upstairs," Yuan said, and Kratos followed him dutifully.

They took the stairs carefully, half waiting for them to collapse. They were stone, but with enough heat and damage, stone could crack and grow weak. But they held. The fourth floor didn't have as much fire damage, but smoke had stained the ceilings and some of the walls. Yuan stepped forward hesitantly, eyeing one of the walls in the small kitchen.

It had been papered with something, Kratos could tell. While much of it was darkened and damaged from the smoke, he could see yellowed corners peeling, and the barest hint of newsprint and faded photographs.

"My brothers were here," Yuan said, voice hollow. "It wasn't just Zaren and I. Our oldest brothers were Dehua and Kail."

"I've never heard you mention them," Kratos said, matching Yuan's low register. As though speaking too loud would disturb the ghosts.

"I don't remember them. They were drafted when I was very young, along with Poppi. All I knew about them came from their pictures, and what Zaren and Mama told me."

"Do you miss them?"

"You can't miss what you never knew."

Kratos understood that. He remembered looking at the sole photo of his mother in his father's office, her books tucked high and away from children's reach. He remembered how all he heard about his mother were vague things, like how she enjoyed reading, and what a lady she'd been. Agenor had mentioned once or twice how Kratos reminded him of her, but he never said how. It had been nothing substantial, nothing real to connect to.

"Mama—mama couldn't take it." Yuan's voice broke a little, and his grip tightened. "She was never the same after they left."

"….it's why Zaren upset you so much, isn't it?" It hadn't been just the betrayal. It had hurt Yuan deeper than that, but Kratos could never have said why.

"He left his family behind, Kratos. Just like we were. And he didn't have to. He could've been happy with them, but instead—he let his fear take him, and just—you don't do that to family."

"…You could've stayed with them, in the capital. You could've found other work to help support them."

Yuan shook his head. "No. _You_ guys are my family. They're family too, but you guys are more important."

Kratos smiled a little. "I'm glad to hear that."

Yuan's hand slipped out of his as he ghosted through the small apartment. There were two bedrooms, each with two beds. The dusty quilts were threadbare and moth-eaten now. Yuan ran a hand over one, his nails getting caught in the rough wool.

Kratos followed him slowly, taking in the little space, having to duck to avoid some overhead beams. He tried to picture the boy he remembered playing here, clambering onto the counters to reach things, his heels bouncing on the cupboards like he used to. He tried to picture Yuan and Zaren wrestling on the floor, laughing. Yuan helping his mother. Yuan at the lone kitchen window, staring out at the sky. Yuan thundering up and down the stairs, perhaps with Robyn on his heels.

But he couldn't. Kratos had always thought he'd had a fairly good imagination, but somehow, in this little, time-beaten apartment, he couldn't picture Yuan being happy. Not happy like he'd been when they were growing up together.

They went up to the roof, where broken pieces of pottery lay scattered around, and a clothesline had snapped, its pieces dragging on the floor. Here, there was evidence of Yuan. Childish drawings with what looked like charcoal smeared across the floor and walls. Some had something splattered on them, almost like paint, but more than likely fruit. They were difficult to make out, and entirely gone in most places, but there was a corner, by the door, where there was a small overhang, that was still partially intact.

Yuan stood on a ledge, reaching up to clamber onto an overhanging branch. Kratos watched him climb easily, before straddling a branch.

"…You coming up or what?"

It took Kratos considerably longer to climb up, not being as skilled as Yuan was. He found a sturdy branch a bit below Yuan's and carefully moved his legs on either side so he could sit. Yuan's knee dangled just outside of Kratos' face.

When Kratos had settled himself, he looked out and the view took his breath away. Large expanses of fields surrounded by the mountains, that stretched out far until the horizon became fuzzy and it was difficult to tell earth from sky. The landscape was marred, however. The canyon that had been gouged out of Asgard continued outwards, jagged and deep.

"This was my favorite spot in the world," Yuan said, swinging his feet a little, apologizing when he tapped Kratos' cheek with his boot. "I could spend hours up here, just…watching."

"You, sitting still for more than five minutes? Impossible," Kratos joked, and that time, when Yuan's boot hit his cheek, it was intentional. But in all seriousness, Kratos could see that. He remembered riding out storms in the trees with Yuan as children, remembered childhood dreams of flying.

"…Zaren would take the flocks out to graze in the fields." Yuan pointed them out. "I'd watch him leave every time. I couldn't wait to grow old enough to go out there with him."

"A shepherd, huh? More realistic than being a writer, I suppose. Especially in these times."

Yuan snorted. "Yeah." He lounged back against the trunk. "Looking back…I can't thank you and your dad enough."

" _What?"_

"I know it sounds bad, and I still hate that old bastard—may he rot in hell—but he's the one brought me to you. If it weren't for him, I'd be a shepherd right now, or a slave still."

"I never thought about it like that." Kratos stayed quiet for a long moment, gently kicking his legs. The air was thinner up here, he could feel it with every breath. "He caused you a lot of pain through."

 _(Kratos can never forget being terrified on that ship, his best friend lying before him_ not breathing why won't he breathe _. He can't forget Yuan's face when he saw the ink on his arm, the lashes on Yuan's back. He can't forget Yuan stuck behind the bars and the hatred in his face for his brother. Can't forget the nights they jolted awake, clutching at each other, terrified of the memories)_

"…The pain would've happened regardless, I think. There's no way to live without it. This way, at least, I get you, and Martel, and Mithos." Yuan looks down at Kratos, narrowing his eyes. "But you knew I would say that."

"It was an educated guess," Kratos confessed. "But I think you needed to hear yourself say it."

"And you needed to hear me say it," Yuan added softly.

Kratos shrugged, neither accepting nor denying it. They sat in silence for long minutes, just feeling the wind and watching the horizon.

"I don't know what I expected to find," Yuan said finally. "I never really let myself picture it. But now that I'm back, I just—I don't recognize the person that used to live here."

"You _are_ different," Kratos agreed. "But that's not necessarily a bad thing."

"I know. It's just weird, y'know, to think of the possibilities of the person I could've been. And then to not really like that person." Yuan leaned his forearms on his thighs, hair slipping down over one shoulder. It was getting really long now, and the three of them had offered to cut it for him, but Yuan had just shrugged and said he kind of liked it long. "I used to think being a shepherd was the best thing that could happen to me. Closest thing to a family tradition that we had. It would be a proud thing, doing what Poppi did, and what my brothers did.

"Not," Yuan added. "That there's anything wrong with being a shepherd now, but just—I think it would drive me crazy. Having to stay stuck in one place, unable to travel, never seeing more than these fields and these mountains."

"You don't want to settle down one day then?"

"Oh sure. I still dream about having a place to call home, a place that's just _ours_ , but…it would be a place to go home to, not a place to be chained to."

"That's a good way to put it."

Yuan looked down at him. "What about you?"

"What _about_ me?"

"You ever think of settling down?" They were twenty-six. Most people their age had been married for years, had children and houses of their own.

Kratos snorted, an odd, barely there sound. "It's hard for me to picture. Not a place, I can picture a place just fine. But I can't really picture being married to somebody."

"Do you not want to be?" It wasn't accusing or judging. Just curiosity.

He shrugged. "I dunno. In theory, yeah. Sure. But…I've never exactly had a model for marriage, for having a family outside of you guys. So while I can say that it'd be nice, when I imagine the future, I can't quite picture it."

"I'm sure you'll find someone wonderful, Kratos." That simple. Yuan didn't have much faith in people, or deities, or in a lot of things, but Kratos, somehow, had earned that kind of unyielding faith.

"What makes you so sure?" It wasn't that Kratos didn't have any interest, but what kind of woman would want him? No money, no place to call his own, nothing to his name except the three people at his side, and the sword on his hip.

"People have a way of surprising you. You might not think so, but I know that there's a woman out there who sees what we see in you." The shy child that Yuan remembered, the awkward teenager, the stubborn man, the patient teacher.

Kratos bumped his head affectionately on Yuan's leg, unsure of when his best friend had turned the conversation onto him. "Thanks."

* * *

Mithos stood at the edge of the chasm that the Mana Cannon had carved. He'd tucked his hair into a tail to avoid it flying everywhere with the strong winds in this valley. A market. That's what Yuan said used to be here. Mithos could picture it: woven goods—he'd seen how good Yuan was with his hands, had always been with his hands. Did he learn that growing up here?—and pomegranates. Hotcakes and strips of lamb meat sizzling. Children racing each other, kicking up dust under their bare feet. Mothers and aunts and sisters gossiping. Old men smoking as they sat in front of their stalls, one eye on the children.

All of them gone. Because of the Mana Cannon. Because of the humans. Because this war was still going.

In a vague, horrified way, Mithos wondered if their bodies were still at the bottom of the chasm. Or had they burned up in the initial beam? Had their ashes been blown away? The Temple disposed of the dead by burning them, then taking them to the highest point and scattering the ashes to the three winds, allowing the Sylph to take them to the afterlife.

_(Mithos remembers the elves, sending his mother's body down the river to go out to sea, for Undine to decide whether she was to go on, or to drag her down to the depths of the ocean, forever drowning for her sins)_

He glanced out in the direction that Yuan and Kratos had disappeared to. They'd been gone a while, but Mithos figured that Yuan needed the time. He couldn't imagine what it would be like if he and Martel ever returned to Heimdall.

Mithos looked back down into the chasm and was seized with the wild urge to jump. Not that he would, but the idea was there. Leaping into the unknown, nothing but the darkness and wind to catch him. Mithos was both terrified and fascinated with the idea; freefalling, with the wind whistling about him. The wind felt different out here than it did in the Temple. It was harsher, sharper, and Mithos wasn't sure if he was imagining that he could taste ashes on it.

Martel was crouched in the ruins of a house, holding something. When Mithos went nearer, he saw a doll, ripped apart and charred. He knew it was killing her, to not be able to help Yuan right now, but neither of them knew anything about this. They hadn't had a place to call home since, well, before Mithos could remember. Home for the Yggdrasills had always been each other, and then Kratos-and-Yuan had come barreling into their lives and they were home too.

_(Martel remembers Heimdall, and she had called it home, but she has never seen it destroyed, has never known all of her neighbors dead or enslaved. She has known neighbors turning on her, has known what it is to see their faces twisted in rage and hatred as they hurl spells and rocks at them, as they burn them out of their homes, but she doesn't know this. As much as she tries, she can't understand, and she can't help. But Kratos—though he has never known that pain either—he can help Yuan. Something in their history, in their bond, means that he is the best equipped for this)_

Martel felt Mithos near her, and she set the doll down and stood with a creaking in her knees. She was too young to be getting old, she thought wryly. She combed a hand through his hair, needing to feel him here, solidly alive in this desolate place.

"You okay?" Mithos asked quietly.

"Yeah. Just…" She didn't have the words to finish it, but Mithos understood her. He always had. He came closer to wrap an arm around her waist, leaning his head on her shoulder. She just took him in, warm against her. She'd been so scared, watching over his unconscious body for that long week, that he would never wake up.

The boys—they're men now, properly, but to Martel, they would always be the boys she met on that boat—came back half an hour later looking wrung out. Their eyes though—Yuan's in particular—they were clear in a way they hadn't been since arriving at the Temple. Asgard had always hung over Yuan, but away from this province, he'd been largely free of it. Now, now he was properly free from those memories. Kratos-and-Yuan had cleansed those old wounds, had exorcised whatever demons had waited for them and, as always, they'd come out on top.

Martel hugged them close, kissing each of them on the cheek. Her boys. All three of them. So strong and alive and she really didn't know what she would do without them. Kratos hugged her back, as solid an anchor as ever, while Yuan buried his nose in between her neck and shoulder.

Kratos let go first, but Martel waited until Yuan disengaged from her to say, "Ready to get out of here?"

Yuan's smile was a bit wobbly around the edges, but it was more genuine than most of his had felt since they'd arrived. "Absolutely."

* * *

Vanessa had a knack for finding him, Yuan decided. Not that he minded. He quite liked her.

They were playing ball one day, kicking it around and Yuan laughing when she kicked it over his head, when Robyn came up. Nessa said she was telling her mom where she went, but Yuan knew all too well how good a liar a kid could be.

But Robyn didn't look upset. She was just collecting Nessa for dinner, like always. Kratos had mentioned that he and Robyn had actually managed a halfway civil conversation the other day, but she'd been steadfastly avoiding him the rest of the time.

"Join us?" Robyn asked. Her hair was coming loose from the scarf she wore over it, the strands wild and frizzy. It reminded Yuan of the girl he vaguely remembered.

"Sure."

Their dinner was a small portion of rice and some scrawny looking potatoes, but Yuan ate his portion thankfully. Nessa had already told him all about her day, but now she repeated all the information back to her mother, and Yuan interjected occasionally with questions. Mostly, he watched in silence. Kratos had repeated what Robyn had told him, that Nessa wasn't hers. Yuan believed it; he couldn't see any of Robyn in Nessa, except for how she spoke, the Asgard accent curling around her vowels, stretching them soft. _(He hadn't realized until a few weeks ago that he'd ever had an accent. He'd grown up with people speaking like that, so he'd never heard anything different. When Kratos taught him to read, to pronounce words and sound them out when he had trouble—he must have lost his accent)_

Yuan washed up while Robyn got Nessa into bed. She'd objected, but Yuan had tilted a smile at her. "The cook shouldn't clean."

Robyn came out to help him dry the last few plates. "…Heard you went home."

He knew what she meant, and he wanted to tell her that Asgard wasn't home for him anymore. Home was Kratos' steady voice and warmth, was Martel's kisses and laughter, was the gleam of trouble in Mithos' eyes. But that would break Robyn's heart, he knew, so he just said, "Yeah. All of us did."

"…how was it?"

Yuan wondered if Robyn had ever gone back, or if she still lived with her ghosts. "…Empty. Quiet." Utterly silent, more like it. "But…I needed to see it, I think."

"To know for sure that there was nothing left?" Robyn's hands were trembling. "I can't go back."

"Because then it's real?" Yuan set down a bowl. "Robyn, you've been living like this for, what fifteen years? This isn't some nightmare. It's real. It happened."

"I believed that, until you showed up."

Yuan blinked at her. "Me?"

"Yeah. You know I don't got any schoolin', but even _I_ can tell you it's long odds that you, of all people, showed up here."

"They are long odds," Yuan agreed. "But trust me, Robyn. I lived through the same fifteen years. There are things I _can't_ forget, things that won't let me believe that it was all some long nightmare." The numbers on his arm, the way Zaren's betrayal still burned in his chest, the memory of drowning. "I needed to go back because…in some part of me, I think I still thought I was that kid. And I'm not. I'm not very much like him at all anymore. And I like it that way. I like the person I've become, the family I have. I wouldn't trade the three of them for the world."

"That's where we're different." Robyn's eyes were hollow and dim. "I would do anything to get my mama back. And gran. I would trade every person in this damn Temple for them. Nessa ain't my daughter, and I shouldn't have to be responsible for her life. They found her in a farmtown twenty miles south. Her whole town was dead. They found her in her mother's arms, cryin'. I didn't choose her. At some point, someone gave her to me, said 'Watch her for a spell' and they never took her back."

"Tell me you've never told her any of that."

She glared at him. "No. I don't want to be her mother, but that don't mean that I'mma break her heart. She's just a kid."

Yuan did the mental math. Nessa was, what, about seven? Robyn was a year or two younger than he was, so she would've been about seventeen when Nessa came around. Most girls would be getting married already, if not engaged. No time to waste in a war, after all. But Robyn never got the chance to grow up normal. "Thanks for treating Nessa right."

_(Robyn wants to ask him why he cares. He's known Nessa for a couple of days. But then she remembers what Yuan's mama was like. She hadn't known the reason, as a kid, but she'd been able to tell that she wasn't all there. She remembers her good days though, when the neighborhood had been in that little kitchen with hot buns fresh out of the oven. Yuan would be the type to make sure kids are taken care of by someone responsible)_

"'s the proper thing to do."

His smile was warm and genuine. "Doesn't mean that most people would do it." He kissed her cheek goodbye—quick, chaste, and at her stunned expression, accompanied with a flicker-fast grin that was a mirror to the look Kratos had given her weeks ago.

* * *

Martel stood with Kratos, overlooking the morning training. The refugees were motivated now, taking to the classes with enthusiasm. Particularly when Yuan's delighted laughter rang out. "Excellent!" he crowed, and there would be applause and cheering.

"You look proud," Martel said, leaning her forearms on the bannister.

"I am. I mean, look at them. They're confident, they're smiling. I barely recognize them from the people that I first saw."

"So it doesn't disappoint you? That they're still no closer to accepting you?"

Kratos turned to look at her, and she was a little surprised by how old his eyes looked. Kratos was one of those people that, simultaneously, could be too old and too young for his body. Martel was, largely, accustomed to it; she hardly noticed it anymore, simply accepting it as Kratos. Sometimes, though, sometimes it was jarring to see.

"It's taken this long just to be able to accept themselves. To be able to look past their own weaknesses—their fear, their complacency, whatever it was—to be able to own who they are." His smile was an odd, mocking thing, there and gone. "It's not an easy process, trust me, and Yuan's helped them get there in a month where it took me almost ten years. Of course I'm proud of them and of course I wish they could accept me, but—things have their own time. Rushing them only hurts more, I think."

"You're gonna make a great old man one day, spouting wisdom like that."

Kratos laughed and that old look in his eyes was gone in an instant. He was himself, again. "I think it'll be a miracle if any of us make it to old age at all, frankly."

"Oh please, where's your positivity?"

He rolled his eyes at her. Martel was a bit more optimistic than he was, but Mithos was the real optimist out of all of them. Martel was too grounded in reality, in survival to ever believe as strongly as her brother did. Even she couldn't keep a straight face, and they both dissolved into laughter. It was a good sign, probably, that they could laugh in the face of dying young.

* * *

Yuan looked up from reading Kratos' notebook, with all of its collected stories and myths as Mithos came through the door. Martel was taking a bath and Kratos was dozing on his own cot, not quite asleep yet.

Yuan held his page with his finger; Mithos' fingers were twitching like he wanted to tap something and he looked a bit pale. "What's wrong?"

"Anish said I'm ready."

"To make the pact?"

Mithos nodded.

Kratos sat up, resting his elbows on his half-bent knees. "Do you not think you are?"

"The last time we fought the Sylph, you guys got hurt. I—if we're not ready, you'll get hurt again."

"Do you think Anish would tell you that you were ready if she didn't think you were?" Kratos asked him.

"Well, no, but—what if she's wrong? It's only been a couple of weeks since then, and—"

"And you've been training your butt off," Yuan interrupted. "I've seen you."

"But is it enough?" Mithos pressed.

"One way to find out."

When Mithos still didn't look convinced, Kratos gestured him over. "C'mere." When Mithos was standing in front of him, he said, "Do you want to know something that the Shadow monks told me? I was moving really stiff before because of my back. Because subconsciously, I was afraid of hurting it again."

"I remember."

"Well, they told me that it's a common thing. Being afraid of doing something when you failed the first time. But the longer you take to go back to it, the harder it will be. You're brave, Mithos. You're one of the bravest people I know, but everybody gets scared. That's normal. But we can't let being scared stop us from doing the things we want—or need—to do."

"Finding something that is more important than fear, huh?" Mithos had heard Kratos tell him of that human saying before, but it hadn't meant very much then.

Kratos smiled. "Exactly."

"Besides," Yuan said. "You really think I'm gonna let the Sylph kick my ass a second time? No thanks. I'm ready for some good ol' fashioned revenge."

That made Mithos laugh. "Okay. Let's do it."

* * *

Fighting the Sylph was still difficult, even when Mithos was supposedly ready. But fighting them was like casting their spells, he realized. You couldn't control the wind, even with magic. You had to guide it, had to slip through its patterns. And he remembered sitting on that mountaintop and hearing the Linkite Trees. He remembered standing on the precipice of the gorge in Asgard, remembered the wind tasting of ash and the sorrow sound of it echoing through the cliffs.

That made it easier. Made it easier to know when to move and when to brace for impact. Martel's barrier spells could only do so much, but the Earth spells shattered the Sylph's internal rhythm, providing openings. Openings that Yuan gladly took, Thunder Blades striking from the sky and Martel's Rays intersecting, blinding them momentarily and giving Mithos the opportunity for earth-shattering magic.

They still wound up getting sliced to ribbons, and they compared them in the safety of their room that night.

"You need to keep your guard up on the left side," Yuan observed, poking gingerly at Mithos' knee. "There's a lot more cuts there."

Kratos was, very gingerly, stitching up a cut that bisected Martel's eyebrow. Of the three of them, he had the steadiest hand with a needle, and Martel had insisted on no Healing magic since none of the cuts were serious enough to warrant it. Mithos let Yuan finish patching him up, adding a healing salve and bandaging up the ones that were still bleeding.

Yuan grinned a little at him though as he rubbed the salve into Mithos' shoulder. "And you thought we wouldn't win."

Mithos returned the grin. "Never should've doubted you."


	71. Undine

_Tell me a story of war-_  
_That how after love,_  
 _we are naked, shivering,_  
 _a mass of recklessness._  
 _That we would dare to eat all the stars-_  
 _all of the light in heaven._  
 _-Salma Deera (War on Love)_

* * *

"Something wrong?" Mithos asked. After weeks of travelling towards Undine's Temple, they'd finally hit the coast. It was nice to rest their aching feet in the cool ocean water.

Kratos, sitting beside him in the shallow water, just shrugged. "Not really. Just thinking about Robyn."

"What did she say to you? Before we left?"

_(He hadn't been expecting her and Nessa, of all people, to see them off. Nessa hugs his legs tightly before doing the same to Yuan. Robyn kisses Yuan's cheek, holding onto him tightly before moving to stand in front of Kratos. After a moment, she thrusts out her hand._

_Kratos takes it, stunned._

_Robyn tilts an awkward smile at him and tugs him a little closer by the hand. "…You're not all bad, I think."_

_He returns the smile. "Likewise."_

_"Just, take care of Yuan, alright? He's—he needs you."_

_Kratos' smile softened. "I will. I wish the best for you and Nessa."_

_An odd look passes Robyn's eyes, but she just nods and steps away)_

"Just that I wasn't too bad," Kratos told Mithos. He wasn't sure why he didn't want to tell Mithos the whole truth. He hadn't even told Yuan what Robyn had said to him. Perhaps it was simply because Robyn had taken such care for no one else to be able to tell. Maybe it was a shared secret between him and Robyn, a woman who was essentially a total stranger. "For a human."

Mithos smiled. "Well. She's not wrong."

* * *

Undine's Temple stood on a rocky outcropping in the south. It took some convincing for Mithos to be allowed to study with the priests and priestesses to learn the rituals and customs so that he could make a pact.

"Water is the element of balance," they taught him. "It moves with the push and pull of Luna, a harmony. It heals and hurts."

The temple was a beautiful place, carved of white limestone, with elegant columns and domed ceilings. The steps were worn soft and smooth and there were many that led out in the shallow ocean waters. Large murals were painted on the walls and ceilings, depicting great battles between Undine and Volt, the love held with Luna, the story of Aska's jealousy. There was a hall of heroes—mostly heroines—beloved of Undine.

Kratos enjoyed exploring the Temple, understanding the stories and comparing them with the ones he'd learned from Yuan. Martel came with him fairly often, and she debated the differences with Kratos. The stories she'd learned from the elves weren't so different.

"Heimdall has a very similar climate," Martel explained. "It makes sense that they hold Undine in a similar high respect."

Yuan explored as well, but his favorite places in the Temple rapidly became the lighthouses, talking and learning from the priests up there. Martel would often find him cradled in the wide windowsills, napping in the sunshine.

"You like high places, don't you?" Martel said once, kissing his hairline.

He hummed in affirmation, wrapping an arm around her hips to tug her onto his lap. "I like to see the horizon. It reminds me of Asgard, and that I'm not stuck where I am." _(He is happy that reminders of Asgard don't hurt anymore. Or rather, not in the same gut-wrenching way. Now, it is a familiar, soft hurt of old memories)_

Yuan, as Martel had learned, had a wanderer's spirit. Never content to be in one place. The idea seemed strange to her, but then, she'd never had a choice in the matter. She'd been running from place to place since she and Mithos had been chased from Heimdall.

"Are you sure you don't want to come swimming with us?"

"I'll go down, but I'll stay on the stairs."

Martel remembered the first time she'd ever met Yuan; he and Kratos lying on a ship deck, drenched, Kratos frantic, hoping that Yuan would just _breathe_. In Heimdall, a village prone to floods during the summer, Martel had been taught at an early age how to bring someone's breath back, and her training had kicked in. Thrusting hard into his chest with the heel of her hands, pinching his nose and breathing into his mouth. _Technically_ it was their first kiss, but neither of them counted it. _(She had almost lost him before ever meeting him. The thought jabs somewhere under her solar plexus)_

Mithos was already swimming when they got down to the meeting spot, far enough out that the water had started to deepen. Kratos was up to his thighs in the water, and Noishe was wading by the stairs, dipping his beak in and occasionally making a half-hearted attempt to catch the little fish in this area.

Martel tugged off her shirt and dropped her pants, entirely unself-conscious in front of them. They lived together; it wasn't as though they hadn't seen her in less. The water was cool and a balm from the heat of the day. She hadn't exaggerated when she told Kratos that this area reminded her of Heimdall; it had been a long time since she'd had to be in heat like this.

Mithos waved, calling her over and Martel began wading out. Kratos grinned at her when she froze as the cool water started hitting her thighs, her groin. "Cold?" he asked.

She shot him a look. "I don't see you getting in any deeper either."

His grin stuttered as he took her challenge, going in deeper until he was up to his bellybutton. She could hear Yuan snorting as he took in the situation, and she strode forward, matching Kratos' pace. They kept on that way until Martel was up to her neck and then she realized Kratos' advantage. He was a good half a head taller than her.

Reaching up, Martel grabbed him around the shoulders and yanked him down with her into the water. He jerked up immediately, yelping at the sudden cold, and she could hear Mithos trying to laugh and swim at the same time.

Being away from the warfront was both hard and easy at the same time. Hard because leaving their friends, their neighbors behind to fight without being there to fight with them? It weighed heavy on their shoulders, and there were plenty of nights where at least one of them couldn't sleep with the worry and guilt. But it was still less stressful, being out here. Having time to themselves, not having orders pushing them to go places. They were happier, ultimately, without taking orders. The circles beneath Kratos' eyes weren't as pronounced, and Yuan slept less fitfully. Martel had time to rest, now that she wasn't at the clinic almost 24/7.

_(It's Mithos that she's happiest about. Out here, he is smiling, and playing, and exploring like children of his age should be doing. He's only twelve. He shouldn't be on the warfront like this, and she can't be guilty that he gets to be kid)_

* * *

Yuan sat behind Martel, brushing out the tangles from her recently washed hair. He liked doing this, he'd confessed before; he didn't mind that it could, sometimes, take close to an hour because of how long her hair was, and how fiercely tangled it could get. It was calming.

"You've been kinda quiet today," Yuan murmured. "Everything okay?"

Martel rubbed Yuan's knee reassuringly. "Yeah. I was just—is it bad to think that it's been kind of, nice? Since we left?"

"Not being in the thick of things? No. It's…nice is a good word." He dropped a kiss on her shoulder, but he lingered, leaving his lips pressed to her warm skin. He'd felt so brittle, before they'd been discharged. Ready to snap or shatter. That feeling had been waning since they'd left, and he'd felt a stiffness leaving his shoulders and spine, a tension he hadn't realized was there because it had been building for so long. Even Sylph's Temple and returning to Asgard hadn't brought that kind of tension and stress back into him. This wasn't peace, not by a longshot. They still had to hide their identities in human lands—even Kratos, with his face plastered onto the wanted posters—and food was still scarce, but it was so much less stressful.

_(There are no slowly dimming eyes of dying men out here, no explosions of grenades, no thick scent of blood and worse mixing with the embers of the day. It is easier out here, to forget all of it, surrounded by the people that Yuan loves most in all the world. A part of him, a large part, wants to hide. Wants to build or find a house large enough for the four of them, away from people, and they can stay there, in a place all their own, and be happy. It's a dream, he knows, an unrealistic one, but he wants it fiercely)_

Martel leaned back against him, and he uncrossed his legs to let her scoot closer, his fingers trailing absentmindedly from her thigh over her hip, back and forth. "I keep expecting to wake up," she said. "To wake up and see that tent, and get ready to go to the clinic."

"I thought you liked being in the clinic."

"I—I enjoy being able to help people. But being in the clinic, day in and day out, it was…draining is a good word for it."

He kissed her shoulder in sympathy before resting his chin on it, his breath tickling her jaw. "…You ever think it could always be like this?"

"What, always traveling? Never answering to anyone?"

He puffed a laugh. "The latter is rather pleasing to think about, but no. I mean…do you think this is as close to peace as we'll ever get?"

Her fingernails scraped up and down his shins. It tickled a little, but not enough to make him move. "No. I can't believe that."

"Still wishing for a proper house? With goats?"

Martel laughed delightedly, remembering that lone summer day when they'd discussed it. Well, it hadn't been a serious discussion then. Just children, dreaming aloud. _(They'd been legally adults then, but Martel feels so old right now that she thinks of those times as belonging to children)_ "I don't even know what I would do with a proper house, honestly. I haven't lived in one since I was a kid."

"Neither have I." Yuan hummed thoughtfully. "What would you want in that house?"

"A bathtub," Martel said decisively after a moment of thought. When she felt his chuckles vibrating against her back, she nudged him with her shoulder. "I'm serious. A big bathtub, with hot running water and soap that smells pretty."

"Mm. Like flowers. Violets."

"Or jasmine. Those too." She could feel him nodding in agreement. "What about you? Let's take turns."

"What do I want?" Yuan had never taken much time to think about specifics. It had always been a distant dream, one to nurse on lonely nights. "…Windows. I want lots of windows so that there are those nice sunny spots that're warm when you step on them. Thin curtains too, so that they let in light."

"I still want a garden, and flowerboxes that we've done a really terrible job of painting. I want a bench out there so we can sit and watch the stars."

"Books," Yuan said simply. "Books everywhere."

"You'd be so messy," Martel teased. "I imagine you'd want them everywhere. On nightstands, and in the kitchen, and in piles around the living room."

Yuan nodded, closing his eyes to picture it. Books, and no one to condemn them for reading them, for being _able_ to read them.

"…Bookmarks or dog-ears?" Martel asked suddenly.

Yuan blinked at her. The question was out of the blue, and he'd never really had a choice. Since they lived on the road, dog-eared pages were quite common. "Bookmarks." It would be a shame to damage the books when he didn't have to.

"Good answer."

They were quiet for a long while, just feeling each other's breaths, letting the calm of the Temple soak into their skins. Finally, Yuan said, "…I want you there. With your shoes by the door, and making a mess whenever you change." Because she would, he knew it and so did she, by the way she stuck her tongue out at him. "I want you making the house smell with that flowery soap of yours, and dirt in the entryway from the garden. I can't picture a house without you in it."

She turned a little, and he was afraid to let her, afraid that she was going to get up, and leave and never come back. But his mouth kept going, and he could feel the ring in his pocket pressing against his hip.

"Hell, I can't actually picture a future without you in it, and I don't think I want to." Yuan had to squirm a bit to fish the rings out. He'd been planning something, had wanted to make it romantic and grand, something big because Martel deserved something like that. He hadn't expected to do it now, but apparently, that's where this was going. "Martel, will you marry me?" His voice broke a little, somewhere in the middle, but he tried to keep his calm.

She stared at him, wide-eyed. Her gaze flicked to the ring in the box he was holding out, a little awkwardly balanced. "Are you serious?"

That made him laugh, the sound a little hysterical. Spirits, but he couldn't remember ever being this terrified. _(He'd been telling the whole truth. He doesn't know what his like would be like without Martel Yggdrasill and he doesn't ever want to find out)_ "Not exactly the kind of thing I would joke about."

He could feel her breathing speeding up a bit, and now she was pulling back and away, getting to her feet. Yuan's fingers scratched into the stone floor beneath them, wishing it was dirt so that his fingers could really dig in.

"I-I need to think," Martel managed before walking away.

* * *

They hadn't explored the entire Temple yet, and the room Martel found herself in was one she didn't recognize. Murals were painted on the walls, and there were carved tablets beneath the, perhaps dictating what the murals represented. The far wall was entirely open to a large stone balcony which looked out onto the open sea. Martel hurried out there, needing air.

Marriage. Yuan had just asked her to marry her.

It was something she'd never considered. Not seriously. Not with a lot of thought behind it. It had always been something quick, in passing, like a little daydream. But he was serious. He had the rings and everything.

Martel didn't know how to be married. She didn't even remember what it looked like. Her parents had been in love with each other, yes, but her mother had died when she'd only been eight. Her memories weren't strong from back then. Her most vivid memories of her father were of after her mother's death, how hollow he looked. His wife's death had broken him, and he'd followed her to death not two years later.

_(She doesn't want anyone to have that kind of power over her. It's all too likely that one of them won't make it out of this war, if either of them do. Martel doesn't want Yuan's death to rip her apart. She has survived so much, and she doesn't want to break. But wouldn't love be worth it? Surely it would. And if Yuan has proven anything over the years, it's that he's very good at beating the odds)_

And she'd run from him.

Yuan had proposed. And she'd run. Like she always did. Like she had after their first kiss in the desert. It was what Martel knew how to do. It was what she'd been doing for most of her life.

Spirits, but his face after she'd left. Like she'd ripped out his heart and stomped on it in front of him. How could she not have seen it? Yuan had to be just as afraid of this as she was. If he could be brave enough to try for this, why couldn't she?

Yuan was braver than her. Brave enough to risk everything, put it all on the line, even at the possibility of losing it all. Martel found it very difficult to do that. She liked keeping herself and her people safe. It was what she was good at, it was all she'd ever taught herself to do. Survival at whatever cost, even if it was herself.

But that was the mentality of war, Martel thought. There would be a day, in some future, that the war would end. She didn't know what that would look like, but she imagined that a world such as that wouldn't need such extreme measure such as she'd had to use to keep her family alive. That was the kind of thinking she had to use. Survival was not all that life was about. Survival made it so that you had a life to live, and if she kept running, kept hiding from these sorts of things, then there wouldn't be a life to enjoy.

Besides which, this was a war. She could lose Yuan tomorrow. Wouldn't she much rather have had a fiancée for a day and have the possibility of having him beside her, in every way possible, for the rest of her life instead of losing him over fear?

Martel gulped down the ocean air until she could feel her breathing steadying out. This was good. She could do this. She could be brave. And when her breathing came back, and her hands stopped shaking, Martel turned on her heel and left that room, intent on finding Yuan.

* * *

Martel's heart twisted when she returned to the small rooms outside of the bathing pools where they'd been. He wasn't there, nor was he anywhere nearby.

High places. Yuan liked high places.

So she climbed up the lighthouse steps—all three hundred and twenty-two of them—to find him curled at the top on his ledge, the box with the rings in it clutched in his hands.

"I hope you're not planning on throwing them away." Martel's voice came a little too fast and a little too high to be casual as she'd been hoping to appear. Yuan whipped his head to look at her, as though shocked she would ever want to see him again. She crossed the room and laid her hand over his on the box.

He was still staring at her, frozen like a startled deer. "…A-and why is that?" he managed finally.

"Because knowing you, they're quite lovely. And I would rather like to wear one."

"Yeah?"

Martel nodded, pressing her forehead to his. "Yes. My answer is yes, Yuan. I'm so sorry I scared you like that."

He kissed her quickly, firmly, one hand slipping around her hips to draw her nearer. "I'll be honest—I'm still scared. I don't know how this is going to work, if it even will or—"

"Neither do I. Frankly, this terrifies me. But I'd much rather be at your side than give in to fear. You have this way of making a girl feel very brave."

Yuan's laugh was half hysterical with relief, and half true joy as he tugged her closer, this kiss hard and desperate. "You're amazing, Martel Yggdrasill. And I feel the same way."

She stepped over his legs to straddle him, nudging at the box. "So. Let me see them."

When he slipped the ring out, she took it gently, turning it in her hands. She'd been right; it w _as_ lovely. And unique. She caught the inscriptions on the inside and she smiled fondly. He was so thoughtful, her fiancée. She turned the word over in her mind, feeling it echo. Then she said it aloud, felt the syllables and the way her tongue curled around it. "I quite like the sound of it."

"So do I," Yuan confessed, his own ring in his hands.

This time, when Martel kissed him, it was softer, gentler, no hint of desperation or fear. They were here. Together. They could do this.

* * *

 

They'd all been offered separate rooms, but honestly, they found it difficult—nigh impossible, really—to sleep without someone else in the room. Too many nightmares of finding each other dead, of being alone trapped in chains.

Yuan woke slowly, as he had most of these days in the Temple. Nowhere he needed to go, or be. He had time to catch up on his sleep, let his mind _rest_ , and he was taking full advantage of it. Martel was still asleep beside him, her long hair tangling beneath and over her. He'd suggested that she braid it for bed, but she had kept it in a braid the entire time she was on the warfront, so she wanted to indulge herself.

Light peeking in through the curtain made the ring on his finger glint and Yuan grinned in delight to see it. It hadn't been a dream. He threw his arm around Martel's waist, tugging himself a little closer, and pressing a kiss to her arm, smiling as the scent of her—subtle, between the bathwater and the salty air, but always always with an undercurrent of something herbal.

Martel stirred a bit, shifting against him. "Somethin' wrong?" she mumbled.

He shook his head. "Absolutely nothing." Kissing her again, he added, "You can go back to sleep."

She didn't even have the energy to give him an odd look, just shuffled back under the blankets a bit more and went back to sleep.

* * *

Kratos noticed first, when they came to the dining hall for breakfast. He grinned and hugged both of them hard, congratulating them. Martel went pink, even as she and Yuan beamed. Mithos hugged his sister, and eyed Yuan.

"You'd better treat her right," Mithos told him, the threat lurking behind the words.

"Have I ever not, kid?"

_(Yuan doesn't blame Mithos for being protective. At least now, he has the skill to back up his words. And honestly, if he ever does do anything to hurt her, Mithos has his full permission to carry through with whatever threat he chooses)_

* * *

Martel sat and learned from the Healers among the priests, and they taught her from a rather different perspective than Myra had. Mrya's had been straightforward, clinical thinking. Problem A had solution B. It made sense; they'd been on the frontlines of a war. There had been no time to learn more intuitively.

Here, however, Martel's trainer—Lanuin—taught her to expand her sensitivity to mana, to be able to find the solution to whatever the problem was by listening for it, as he put it. It wasn't literally listening, but it was feeling. Kind of like what Mithos did with the mana that he saw.

"The problem may not always be visible," Lanuin explained. "Or the patient may not be able to tell you, specifically, what is wrong. But the body is very good at knowing if something is not in balance, and it will have a solution. You're a Healer, not a doctor. That means you need to develop the skill to listen for what the body needs and adapt appropriately."

It was difficult, and Martel struggled to do it properly. When she voiced her concern that, perhaps, she was doing it wrong, Lanuin shook his head.

"You've already been doing it instinctively. You're a natural Healer." Martel remembered Myra telling her much the same when her training had first begun, but she hadn't understood what that meant. "What you need to learn is to be able to do it consciously." Lanuin smiled, the soft lines of his face crinkling with the motion. "It _is_ difficult, and you're making some progress, but if it were easy—"

"Everyone would do it," Martel finished.

* * *

His notebook was nearly full, Kratos thought, making a mental note to buy another one when they came to another town. If he had to sweep floors or wash dishes in exchange due to lack of gald, he would. He remembered Yuan's fascination with books as a child because he'd never seen stories written down, had never experienced them that way. He looked around at the murals painted on the walls and ceilings, and Kratos thought that perhaps the priests and priestesses here had never seen them written either. From what he'd seen, half-elves had largely oral traditions, and in losing much of their writing system, they'd created beautiful illustrations to put pictures to their words.

Kratos wasn't much of an artist, though he did his best to copy the murals as he learned the stories behind them from Mithos. It helped the information to sink in, for Mithos to really _know_ it, for him to recite the stories back aloud. The stories, Kratos copied down, word for word, as well as making a note of where he'd learned it because he'd found that, depending on what region he was in, the stories would differ.

Kratos joined Mithos in a room full of light, as many of them were, incense burning. Mithos had taken to keeping his hair tucked up in a tail with the hot weather. They'd all suggested just cutting it, but Mithos said that he kind of liked having it long. He was stretched out on the floor, studying a spell circle.

"Problem?" Kratos asked, sitting cross-legged beside him.

"No. Just a different way of doing it, I suppose."

"How so?"

Mithos slid his slab over, where the chalked sketch of the circle sat. "See this rune here?" Kratos recognized it, a common one for water spells. "I feel like it would do more good on the top portion of the circle."

"Why?"

"Summoning water from the ground is more difficult," Mithos explained. "I mean, water is _usually_ in the ground, so it isn't hard to use mana to bring it up and then expand on that. But water exists in the air too, and that requires less force to move, and therefore you can devote more strength to the actual spell rather than just the preparation for it."

"So because the movement of the water takes less work, you're saying that the actual spell itself will be stronger?"

"Precisely."

Kratos studied the spell circle. Theoretically, it made sense, but then, in theory, most everything could make sense. "This." Kratos tapped a set of two runes on the outer rim. "If you move the other rune, you throw this one out of balance. You change it to a different element entirely. This one adjusts for the earth to move it through. Without that, it becomes more like…mud. A mudslide type effect rather than a wave of water."

"Huh. How do these things make so much sense to you? I mean, they make sense to me too, but I've been looking at this for an hour and I didn't realize that."

"Fresh eyes." Kratos shrugged. "Or maybe it's because my brain isn't trying to a hundred miles an hour to invent something new like yours is." He poked Mithos playfully in the temple as punctuation.

"You say that like you couldn't."

"I don't want to invent anything." Kratos smiled down at Mithos. "I have enough trouble keeping up with the world the way it is."

_(Kratos has come to terms with the fact that, as far as history goes, he will probably remain quite forgotten. Perhaps a footnote here and there, a mention every now and again. Mithos, though. Mithos will most certainly change the world, with his brilliant ideas and unwavering tenacity. Yes, Mithos would go down in history for certain)_

"I don't believe that," Mithos said, propping his head up on his hand.

"No?"

"No. I think that you just don't like to be in the spotlight. You can keep up just fine, but it suits you to be thought of as being a bit behind."

"You make me sound absolutely devious."

Mithos' laughter rung out, bright and silvery, a harmonious note to Martel's echoing off the walls. His voice hadn't begun to break yet, not really. Once, when Yuan scared him by jumping at him from a tree, had him yelping, his voice cracking, but that was it. "I've seen you and Yuan be ridiculously clever when you want to be. So yeah, I think deviousness is part of your nature, and it's only enhanced because you look so absolutely _un-_ devious."

"I don't think that's a word."

Mithos shrugged. "I can make it a word."

Kratos huffed in lieu of laughing properly. "Of course you would. Now c'mon, enough psychoanalyzing. You need to review your lesson."

Mithos' nose wrinkled, but he was still smiling. "Once a teacher, always a teacher." He proceeded to recite the story of Undine and Celsius, two facets of the same element, two sisters who had been shoved apart by fate. Celsius, the rebellious one who had refused to buckle beneath the expectations of society, and Undine who had simply accepted them and then turned them on their ear.

"It's why up north, there is no position of King. It's never existed," Mithos said, kicking his legs in the air. "They have the Empress and her word is absolute."

"And down here?"

Mithos grinned. "They have the position of Queen, and if you read the laws correctly, while the King has a great deal of power, the Queen has the ability to subvert his orders. In truth, the Queen has more power, but much of the time, they're not fully aware of it."

"Because it only helps the King to keep the Queen in the dark." Kratos tapped his pen against the notebook. "In a system that's supposed to be, if not equal, at least somewhat balanced."

Mithos narrowed his eyes. "What're you thinking?"

"This area used to be part of the human empire. This power of the Queen might not be restricted to simply half-elven monarchies."

"Okay…your point?"

"When have you ever heard of the human Queen doing anything?"

"Never. But I barely hear about her at all."

"Exactly. Half-elves took this land from the humans well over two centuries ago, very early on in the war. That means that there's been at least two hundred years of adapting practices and governments, as well as plenty of time for pushing laws under the rug."

"You think they're keeping the Queen deliberately in the dark? Making her just a figurehead?"

"At the very least." Kratos looked down at his notes, not taking them in all the way. "They're probably doing more than that. The smarter political players will be using her to their advantage with her being none the wiser."

"And you say you're not devious."

"I mean, it's nothing concrete. I don't know the laws that give the King and Queen their powers." It wasn't something taught in human schools. Which only added arguments to Kratos' theory. How better to ensure no political upheaval when ninety-eight percent of people would never learn the truth? Times were hard in the human kingdom too; the university had fewer and fewer students, with everyone being drafted, and that wasn't adding in the fact that university was expensive. And the two percent who could afford it and weren't drafted wouldn't be enough to actually cause a political upheaval. It was kind of brilliant.

When Kratos told his new evidence to Mithos, he got a thoughtful hum. "We need to get to a human library. An upscale one. They have to have documentation of their laws _somewhere_."

"Why do you want to read them?"

"We tried making a peace treaty with the King, and we saw how well that worked out. What if the Queen has the power to make a treaty? Or even override the King's decision on this?"

"That's a big 'if'."

"C'mon, Kratos, where's your adventurous side?"

That made him laugh. "What'd you call the last six years then?"

Mithos' grin went wicked. "Dress rehearsal."

Kratos only laughed harder, but he agreed to help Mithos research it.

* * *

When they told the others of their idea, Martel and Yuan just looked at them like they'd gone insane. "You want to break into a human library?" Yuan repeated. "The ones that have that kind of information will only be at a university or at the capital itself."

"We never said it would be easy."

"I thought you were supposed to be the voice of reason, Kratos."

"That's why I think it's a good idea," he said. "We can play their political game better if we know the rules. If we keep running blind, we run a greater chance of continuing this war. Anish was right; we have more power on our side, great, but that's easy to twist into something tyrannical. We need diplomacy."

"And you think we have a better chance of convincing the Queen?" Yuan asked. "If she's basically been a political puppet this whole time, how is what we're doing any better?"

"Because we're not controlling her opinion," Martel said suddenly. She'd been reading Kratos' notes, turning the idea over. "She already has to have an opinion on this war. Everyone does. Whatever game her puppeteers—if that's what's happening—are playing is that they're twisting that opinion to keep the war going. They're more than likely profiting off of this war; weapons and medical supply manufacturers by themselves would make an enormous amount of gald from all of this. Giving the humans a common enemy in half-elves? It just makes it so that no one questions the war, makes them think they're doing the right thing."

"My question still stands, Martel. How do you propose that we convince the Queen?"

"Because she's a mother. The royal line has to be continued. She doesn't want a war ongoing, where the chances are greater and greater every day that the capital is bombed beyond recognition, that her children are the ones found in the rubble."

_(Martel knows that terror, knows it every time she looks at Mithos. Every time she holds Yuan's hand, or leans on Kratos. They are all so temporary, so breakable. Nothing is guaranteed, and she never wants to lose them)_

Yuan softened a little at that response. "…I just want it on the record that I think this is a bad idea. How do you even plan to get all of us into a human university and not get caught? We don't exactly blend in."

"That can come later," Mithos said. "One step at a time."

"So what's the first step?"

"Picking one to break into," Kratos answered. "I think the capital is our best bet, honestly. There will more than likely be a section dedicated to the royal family since that's their city."

"And it's also the one that'll be the most heavily guarded," Yuan argued. Kratos was good at strategy; how had he overlooked that?

"There's one important fact you're overlooking. This is a war. They're not concerned with guarding their books; they're concerned with staying alive."

"I feel like this is going to be one of those times where I'm gonna get to say 'I told you so'."

"Boys," Martel interrupted.

They both shrunk down. Yuan and Kratos were a powerful force if they presented as a united front; when they argued against each other—well, Martel had seen it go on for hours on the subject of a potential metaphor in one of the stories of Shadow. On something this important? They could go all day.

"I agree with Kratos' idea. We don't have time to break into libraries to get the wrong information. If we can pretty much guarantee that a library in the capital is going to have the correct information, then we need to go straight to it."

Yuan was clearly outvoted, so he let his argument fall away. "…We still have time to do more research; I refuse to go into this blind." _(He can't stop thinking of the capital, of the manacles on his wrists, of the brand on his arm. Of the scars on Kratos' back and the hollowness in his eyes)_ "I'll write to Alstan and see if he has any information to help us since we're going to be here for a little while longer anyway."

Mithos nodded. "That sounds like a good idea."

* * *

A priest sat across from Kratos at lunch one afternoon. His mustache and sideburns were shot through with gray, but his black curls showed no trace. "I see you often with that book."

Kratos looked up, frankly surprised that anyone was talking to him. While these priests and priestesses hadn't shown any of that obvious hatred and prejudice for humans, they'd all left him a wide berth. Then he remembered that he was expected to reply. "Oh, er—yes."

Crinkles formed at the corner of the priest's eyes as he smiled. "I'm sorry—that was rather rude, wasn't it? My name is Eli. And you are?"

"Kratos Aurion."

"A pleasure. What is it that you have inside that book of yours?"

"Stories, mostly." Kratos slid the book across the table to him. "I like hearing different stories—even different versions of the same ones—and then I copy them down."

Kratos watched Eli, recognizing the same look in the priest's eyes that had been in Yuan's all those years ago. Uncomprehending, but curious. From what Kratos had seen of the Temple, there was no written language system left. There were carvings and murals—all beautiful and illustrative—and he was sure that they had an oral tradition as well, like most half-elves had.

"Humans show their stories very differently."

"We do at that."

"…Could you teach me? To understand this?" Eli tapped the page, his eyes—a lavender color, now that Kratos was looking—hungry and gleaming.

Kratos smiled. "Absolutely."

* * *

They had lunch together every day, and Kratos would teach Eli over their food, often lingering at the table long after the dining hall had cleared. Eli was a quick study, but his problem was putting sounds to the letters.

"It is very strange," Eli said. "But I will get it."

"I know you will. You're doing very well." Kratos picked up a small crust of bread that had been left on his plate, popping it into his mouth. "May I ask why you wanted to learn?"

"I am a scribe, here. I am instructed to pass our teachings on to those who follow. I create the stories on the walls, the images." Eli scrubbed a hand through his hair. "But that is not enough. Not for this world that you and your friends speak of. We must be able to communicate with the humans if peace ever happens. We cannot seem unintelligent."

"I won't lie—that's a good reason. And that's probably what the humans would think too."

"You speak like you aren't a human anymore."

Kratos felt like he'd been having this conversation a lot lately. Each time he answered, he felt more and more distant from the Aurion plantation, from his father and the photographs of his mother on that far off shelf. "Maybe I'm not anymore. I was born among them, my veins are full of their blood," It wasn't a complete lie. "But my family is half-elven. All the people I love are also half-elven. My father called for my execution, branded me a traitor. So, no. I don't think I am a very good human anymore."

_(It used to hurt, talking about his father. It still kind of does, but it isn't that gaping hole it had been when he'd died—been killed. Kratos had killed him. He can't let himself forget that, even if he thinks it had been the right decision. Maybe this is part of growing up too)_

Eli whistled low. "Well. A turncloak, huh? That'll do it. And now you're here, educating half-elves on the other side of the world."

"To be fair," Kratos said wryly. "I was doing that over there too."

Eli chuckled. "You are a strange one, Aurion."

"You're not the first to say it."

"And hopefully not the last. This world can use more of your strangeness."

* * *

"We believe the ocean is the great healer," Lanuin explained as he and Martel walked down the steps into the shallow waters. "It takes all you are willing to give and brings it back clean. Besides the disinfectant qualities of the salt in the water, the nature of water is also something you must consider when you're using it as part of your medicine."

"I don't usually have that luxury," Martel pointed out.

"I understand. You are in warzones, and constantly traveling. Being choosy is often a luxury you cannot afford, but you must understand the concept. Clean water—beyond being clear of material impurities—is also clear of spiritual ones. There are stories of old elven temples to Undine that had sacred wells or ponds to be used only in their ceremonies."

Martel thought back, trying to remember the temples—not the true residences of the Spirits, but places of worship—that were in Heimdall. "…We had a stream in Heimdall, but there was an offshoot of it that ran behind one of the temples. We were always told to never play there."

Lanuin nodded. "That would logically be why. Even dwarves understand this. They keep a clear well nearby solely for cooling items from the forge. Water with impure mana in it would soil their iron or steel and make it weak."

"So—assuming I have the luxury—look for clean water to use on my patients," Martel repeated. "I can try to do that."

"See that you do." Lanuin slipped his shoes off on the lowest dry step before walking into the shallow water. "We bring people to heal here, if they are badly enough off. The ocean and the body can match each other's rhythms, and a body can be restored to its natural rhythms through that."

"…like the mentally ill?" Martel asked, copying him. The water was cold on her calves.

"Yes. It is difficult with them, as it is as much a mental healing as a physical one, and Undine does what she can. But also patients who have suffered head trauma, or have sicknesses in the lungs."

"I wouldn't bring a patient with lung sickness into the water. It'll make them worse!"

Lanuin smiled at her. "Don't let them swallow it, but performing this spell can reduce or cure the sickness. It is similar to a Recover spell, but it has a broader range of use."

He taught her the movements of the spell—how to use her hands to shape and guide the mana, echoing the push and pull of the water. He taught her the incantation, though with practice, he said, the incantation often became unnecessary.

Martel watched the spell circle appear beneath him, glowing bluish-white beneath the water, reflecting outwards to the stone above their heads and filling the cavern out to deeper waters. After she took a moment to focus her mana, to properly channel, the same spell circle appeared beneath her, spinning slowly.

"Restore," she breathed and the mana burst, dissipating out in ripples. Martel could feel the difference, could feel how wide the spell went.

Lanuin nodded approvingly. "Well done." His face creased with a smile. "You may be one of the cleverest students I've ever taught. It takes most quite a while to get this one. Water can be tricky to work with."

_(Martel is sure that that's true, but when she remembers Heimdall, she remembers lots of water. She remembers it in the ground, remembers when the truly bad summer storms came and the city flooded. She remembers playing in the stream, the children shooting little spouts of water at each other with their magic. She remembers Mithos' hand in hers as they ran, their feet squishing into the soil. Remembers the Ymir and how they had hidden in the root systems of the trees, the water to their chins, terrified of being found. She remembers the curious eyes of the enormous fish that live there passing by, their tails undulating the water with every flick. She remembers their offspring darting in and out and how Mithos had reached out to touch them, fascinated. Water is in her earliest memories and despite her affinity for light magic, Martel thinks that Undine still sees her as a daughter of Heimdall, of a village in the water)_

* * *

Yuan was tying the letter to the carrier pigeon's leg when he felt a nudge high on his back. He looked back. "Noishe."

Noishe leaned his long neck past Yuan's head to poke gently at the hand holding the string.

"Do you…not want me to send the letter?"

Noishe picked up his own leg, looking significantly from the pigeon and back to the leg.

" _You_ want to deliver the letter?"

A nod.

Yuan shifted his weight onto his other leg, eyeing the protozoan. Noishe was, of course, perfectly capable of the job, but Yuan hadn't even considered to ask him. Noishe didn't like to be too far from them, but the protozoan must consider this area beyond safe if he was willing to leave for such a long trip. "…I guess you're getting bored hanging around here, huh?"

Another nod.

"Well, at least Alstan will know the letter really is from us." Yuan untied the letter and gestured for Noishe to pick his leg back up. As he tied it on, he said, "Be careful, alright? You make a pretty big target, and I know you can take care of yourself, but that doesn't mean you can get complacent, okay?"

Noishe nuzzled his face affectionately, trilling softly before taking a few steps back.

"Yes, yes, I love you too. Get going. Sooner you're gone, the sooner you come back."

Yuan watched Noishe fly away, his feathers glinting silver in the sun, until he faded away.

* * *

Water resistance was good for training, Kratos told him as they moved through their forms. Mithos had to admit, it was much more difficult waist deep in water. Or rather, Kratos was waist deep. Mithos was up to his chest. He was both heavier and not, and his balance floated if he stepped any deeper.

Yuan had shaken his head when they'd asked if he wanted to train with them. "I'm good. Keep me out of the water and everything's just dandy."

Instead, Yuan lounged in a patch of sunshine higher up the staircases, reading over Kratos' notebook. He could see how Mithos and Kratos had gotten to their conclusion about the queen having more power than she seemed to be exercising, but he didn't like how far the mental jumps had to be for it. But then, he'd learned that he needed more logical steps in between than the others did.

It had been a little less than a week since Noishe had left and it was beginning to make them all nervous.

Yuan looked out at Kratos and Mithos, watched them flow through the forms, saw Mithos struggling to keep his balance sometimes, and smiled at Kratos sometimes slipping on the sandy bottom. Peace—even relative peace like this—wasn't something that Yuan knew what to do with. That none of them really knew what to do with. They'd all woken in the night, waiting to be attacked, waiting to hear bombs dropping.

Mithos, of all of them, seemed to fear winter the most. Yuan had woken with Mithos curled against his back more than once, shaking. He'd gotten words out of him before, how he'd mentioned that people got desperate in the winter when there was no food. Yuan hadn't needed more of an explanation than that and had tucked Mithos close to him. _(People do get desperate. Yuan has been there when people shoot their dogs and horses for meat. It is not a far stretch to imagine people eating children, who are easy prey and soft meat)_

Kratos didn't scream in his sleep. He went rigid and silent. He slept easier with them curled around him, with feeling someone else's body heat, hearing their breathing. There had been times when Yuan woke to Kratos' barely-there fingers tracing the numbers on his forearm, to a firmer touch to his pulse because Kratos always feared losing his family, but he feared losing Yuan the most.

Martel would wake screaming sometimes. She was very good at catching herself, but Yuan and her slept half-entwined most nights, so he felt her jolt awake. The only thing that could calm her down was knowing that they were all safe. She would need to gently untangle herself from Yuan and the blankets, would reach over to brush Mithos' hair away, to put her hand gently on Kratos' shoulder or chest to feel him move with his breathing.

"I dream that I can't save you," Martel confessed one night when sleep wouldn't come back. "Any of you."

The truth was that the odds were very good that there would be a day that she wouldn't. But Yuan couldn't tell her that, especially when she already knew that. So he'd simply tugged her closer, letting her bury her face in his neck.

"I dream that none of this was real," Yuan murmured back to her. "That I wake up and I'm in a ranch somewhere, and I never met any of you. That you're all daydreams."

Martel clutched him tighter and kissed him hard, biting at his lip before pulling away just enough that he could see the steel in her eyes. "We're _real_ , Yuan. And you're never going back in a ranch."

_(She never says it, but Yuan hears it. That she'll kill anyone that tries. It's a thing people don't understand about Martel. She's a Healer, a sister, a peace-loving woman. But those are all secondary. Martel is, has always been—first and foremost—a survivor, and surviving means that the ends justify the means)_

* * *

Kratos nearly leapt a foot in the air when a weight dropped behind him. Noishe's familiar whistle a moment later made him relax.

"Were you trying to give me a heart attack?" Kratos asked grumpily, stroking Noishe's neck and kissing his beak.

A gleam of mischief in eyes entirely too intelligent for a bird made him sigh. A gentle tap against his knee made Kratos look down at the offered leg with a letter tied to it. It took Kratos a moment to undo the knot and slide the letter free.

"How was it out there?" Kratos asked, looking for any injuries. "As bad as ever?"

A bob of Noishe's head that Kratos took to be a nod. But he couldn't see any injuries and for that, he was grateful. "C'mon. Let's get you some food and find Yuan."

* * *

He found Yuan sweeping a courtyard, his hair pulled up into a messy bun on top of his head to compensate for the heat. Winter wasn't really a thing in this part of the world. They sat against a wall, shoulder to shoulder, Noishe laying his head across their laps, to read.

 _Yuan,_ it read in Alstan's smooth penmanship. _And Kratos, Mithos, and Martel, for I have no doubt that all of you are reading this: I am relieved to hear from you, and to know that you four are, relatively speaking, safe._

_Also, congratulations to you both, Martel and Yuan, for your engagement. May the Spirits shine their blessings on you._

_As for your plan—and I hesitate to call it that, but considering you were concerned enough to ask me for advice on this plan, I'll skip the lecture this time—_

"Thank the Spirits," Kratos muttered and Yuan laughed.

_The theory is interesting. I'll admit that I'm not very familiar with the human laws outlining the powers of their monarchy. As for your 'research trip' to a library in the capital, there are two that I can think of that are likely to have the information you seek. One is, naturally, the Royal Library._

_DO NOT TRY AND ENTER THE ROYAL LIBRARY._

_It's within the Royal Grounds and you're going to get caught if you try to sneak in. That's not a challenge, it's a fact. The four of you are rather lacking in stealth or subtlety._

"He has such a high opinion of us," Yuan said, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Kratos snorted.

_The other library is at the Ciridian University. It is the oldest library in human territories. It is still quite risky to try and enter it, but it has a much higher chance of success than the Royal Library. It is largely an academic school that does not teach much in the way of war, so I did not spend very much time there as a spy. You cannot miss the campus, as it has the tallest point in the city, a tower twin to the one in the Royal Library._

_I hope your theory is correct, and that this is a fruitful avenue towards peace. I understand that you are nearly finished with your goal to collect the Summon Spirits. If—and more than likely when—you go to the elven territories to make a pact with Origin, I'm sure they will try to keep you from entering their cities if they don't catch you on the border. Before you try to start an international incident, tell them that I will vouch for you. I'm sure it will rankle their sensibilities, which of course, I would never want to do._

"Oh, no, never," Kratos drawled sarcastically, making Yuan bury his laugh in his best friend's shoulder before it echoed through the whole Temple.

_I wish all of you safety and peace on your long roads._

_Alstan, son of Rosnain_

Beneath Alstan's letter, in a sharper, loopier hand was a short message.

_If they object to Alstan vouching for you—he is not, naturally, in the best standing among the elves for the way he left their military—I will also vouch for you. May Luna's light shine on all of you._

_Myranda, daughter of Frindhall_

 

The night before they faced Undine, Kratos came back to their room, hair still damp from his bath. Yuan didn't look up at his entry, engrossed in trying to decipher the symbolism in the illustrations that Kratos had copied. It was a puzzle he enjoyed, and it provided a good distraction from what was to come tomorrow.

Kratos sat by Yuan's knees, not even making a dent in the thin mattress. "Are you going to be okay tomorrow?" His voice was slightly hoarse.

A person who didn't know Yuan wouldn't be able to see the sudden tension in him. Kratos, of course, knew better. "Why wouldn't I be."

From his tone, Yuan knew why Kratos was asking, and he didn't want to discuss it. Kratos ignored that subtle signal; he didn't want anyone getting just tomorrow just to avoid an uncomfortable situation. "Because it's Undine. I know you're still afraid of that much water. We don't know what's coming tomorrow. She might flood the room for all we know."

Yuan flinched at the idea.

Kratos set a comforting hand on his knee, a grounding warmth. "That's my point," he continued gently. "We had a close call with Mithos and Shadow. He panicked and if I hadn't seen him, he might've died. I don't want to run that risk again."

Yuan flicked the pages of the notebook absently, avoiding Kratos' eyes. "I don't know if I'll panic," he said honestly. "I don't know that I won't."

"But there's a good chance of it."

"Think of the other option, Kratos—"

"You mean the option where you stay _safe_?" Kratos interrupted, a flash of temper.

Yuan was unfazed. "I mean the option where we _win_. You and I both know that I'm going to be the biggest asset against Undine because of my lightning magic." Kratos opened his mouth to say something, but Yuan cut him off. "Were you going to say that I'm more important than winning?"

A guilty silence.

"This is bigger than just me, Kratos," Yuan told him, softening. "We win, and we're one step closer to ending this war. I'm not worth that."

_(Kratos' first response is "Yes, you are." But he knows better than to say that)_

"…Promise me you'll be careful."

Yuan smiled fondly. "You're such a softie. But yeah, of course. I promise."

Kratos was right to worry. That was Yuan's thought as saltwater flooded the room, sweeping them off their feet. Yuan had to press himself against the ceiling to keep his last gasp of air before it was gone. Underwater, he could barely make out Mithos, even illuminated as he was with a spell circle. _(…caught in a storm…)_

Another flare of light brought his focus back, a familiar Barrier settling over his skin.

That was it.

Martel was brilliant.

Yuan glanced around, lungs beginning to burn _(Kratos—where's Kratos? He can't see him, wasn't he just standing right next to him?)_ and it took all of his focus to create a Spark Wave.

The electricity coursed its way through the flooded room. Yuan couldn't feel it, but he wasn't sure if it was because he was the caster or because of Martel's Barrier. He was counting on it being the latter. _(Don't let this spell have hurt them. Please let them be okay)_

The water receded almost as quickly as it had come. Yuan hit the floor gasping for breath, his knees screaming from the impact. He froze when Undine appeared before him, her sword raised.

_(She is the roiling sea, deep violets and greens beneath the deep blue-grey. She is the riotous currents that had pulled him deeper and deeper, the powerful waves that had tossed the ship they'd been on like a child's toy. This is where he dies, the ocean finally coming to claim him…)_

"Thunder Blade!"

The shout came from two people, and the shockwave of power made Yuan's teeth buzz.

And then it was quiet. No water rushing, no spells, no muffled sounds. Kratos moved in front of him, slipping slightly. "Are you okay?" he asked, ducking his head so that Yuan was forced to meet his eyes.

It took Yuan a long minute to respond. His limbs felt far away, and it was hard to hold a thought in his head.

"Yuan?" Martel's voice, her hair loose from its braid and sticking to her face.

"…I'm okay," Yuan rasped, the taste of saltwater thick in his mouth.

Kratos touched his forehead to his, relief slacking his shoulders while Martel pressed her lips to his temple, lingering.

Someone was missing. "Mithos?"

"He's okay," Martel murmured, and Yuan felt the words against his skin more than he heard them. "Just hurts to talk; he's pretty bruised up."

Undine shimmered to life before Mithos. No longer was she a goddess of storms; she was the stillness of a mountain lake. "You have earned the right to a pact." Her voice was the murmuring of a brook.

Mithos didn't speak, but perhaps he didn't need to because Undine just nodded. "A noble vow. I accept it."

She reappeared in front of Yuan. Kratos and Martel moved protectively in front of him. "I will not harm him," she assured.

Hesitantly, they moved aside. Undine knelt in front of him, her seafoam dress rippling out around her. "You fought courageously. I felt your fear, yet you prevailed. In this, you show great strength. It was an honor to have been defeated by you."

Yuan just stared at her, stunned. "I-um, I don't know what to say to that. Thank you?"

Her laugh echoed in the room. "Honest as well." Her eyes flicked to the rings on Yuan and Martel's hands. "My blessings to you both."

She faded away like morning mist, leaving the four of them dumbfounded. Martel got her focus back first, standing to go back to Mithos. He'd waved her away the first time, not quite up to moving, but he'd seen how pale Yuan had looked when they'd walked into the altar room. Martel's mana felt like a toasty fire after the chill of Undine's, settling into his bruises as they healed and sinking into his bones. He'd been caught in the middle of a Spread and water hit like concrete when it was moving that fast and if there was that much of it.

"That was the worst of it?" Martel hadn't been able to detect any other injuries besides a lot of bruises. Mithos hadn't gotten any water in his lungs, she'd decided after using a technique Lanuin had shown her, as well as asking him to cough. Nothing sounded wet.

Mithos nodded, absently playing with the weight of the gem that Undine had become. The adrenaline was fading and a bed was sounding great right about now. Yuan walked over to ruffle his hair, Kratos not far behind. Mithos grinned at how flat Kratos' wet hair was; even when they swam or trained in the water, it didn't usually end up that flat.

He leaned back against Yuan's legs pointedly to draw his attention. "You made it," Mithos said, holding up the fist that held Undine's gem.

A moment before Yuan beamed, bumping Mithos' fist. "Was there ever any doubt?"


	72. Origin

_"We steal the happiness of others in order to be happy ourselves, and when it is stolen from us we voyage desperately to steal it back. We are pirates. It is the course of the world, and we may think we can travel out of the world's reach, but anyone who thinks that, Gwen always remembers, is a mistake. You can swim as long and as hard as you like, but you will be giving up one life in order to save another."  
-Daniel Handler (We Are Pirates)_

 

* * *

 

"Origin's Temple is in Heimdall, isn't it?" Yuan asked quietly. Heimdall was a touchy subject for the Yggdrasill siblings, he knew.

"Strictly speaking, no." Martel wasn't looking at him, her eyes on the landscape. They'd managed to hitch a ride on a caravan travelling out that way in exchange for Yuan repairing one of their wheels, and them offering their services as mercenaries. _("We have to be really crappy mercenaries to work for food," Mithos mutters. Kratos smothers a laugh)_ "Origin's Altar is in an area just outside of Heimdall's borders."

Kratos shifted a little where his head was resting on Yuan's shoulder as he napped, unconcerned with the uneven movement of the wagon. "Why do they worship Undine more than Origin if Origin lives right next door?"

Martel smiled crookedly. "Because the elves are practical. Origin may be the King of the Spirits and guardian of warriors, etcetera, but Heimdall usually gets flooded at least once a year at the tail end of summer with the rains. Undine will make sure they don't get swept away in it."

"Theoretically," Mithos added.

_(The idea of going to Heimdall fills Mithos with trepidation. His only memories of the village are of being run out of it. Stones and spells hurling through the air, Martel's hand in his. "Run, Mithos, c'mon. Don't look back…" The Ymir. He remembers the Ymir. Remembers hiding in the roots, remembers climbing the trees when the coast was clear. Remembers walking along the thick branches, avoiding the elven patrols. He has no good memories of the place, can't even properly remember his parents' faces. Not like Martel. He wonders if she's okay with this, and he knows that even if she isn't, that certainly won't stop her. Mithos can't let it stop him either; there's only three Summon Spirits left. Origin, Ratatosk, and Maxwell. And then on to the human capital, the university)_

* * *

 

"Ugh, it's _hot_." Yuan flopped onto his bedroll, feeling absolutely disgusting with the sweat sticking to him. The sun had set two hours ago and it didn't feel any cooler.

"You've been in a desert," Martel laughed, even if her hair was piled on top of her head to keep it off her neck. "That was much hotter."

" _Temperature_ wise, yeah. But this is just—muggy and gross." Yuan craned his neck to look at Kratos, who was taking off his shirt, wrinkling his nose at how sweaty it was. "Is 'muggy' the right word?"

"Yes. Although I also would've accepted 'second layer of hell'." Kratos hung his shirt up on a low branch to dry it off. Yuan laughed lowly.

"Well, you guys are further south than you've ever been," Martel said reasonably. Yuan wasn't sure how she even had it in her to still be reasonable. "It's worse the further you go."

"That's a horrifying thought," Mithos muttered.

Yuan eyed Mithos. "You should wear a hat, or a hood. You're going pink."

Mithos glared at him, but it only looked petulant with his hair stuck to his face and neck. He looked like a drowned cat. "I don't need you fussing at me too."

"Wouldn't fuss if you took care of yourself."

 _"Boys_." Martel cut off the impending argument—and therefore, the impending headache. "You can't kill each other before we reach Heimdall."

"Oh, fine." But Yuan smiled a little, even as Mithos rolled his eyes at him.

* * *

 

It took two weeks to arrive near the elven borders. Kratos could feel the tension in Mithos and Martel, could see how much tighter Martel gripped her staff and how she needed to keep her little brother in her sight at all times. He and Yuan just tried to play interference, to distract them from the dark thoughts that lingered in their memories.

"How do we get to Heimdall?" Kratos asked Martel quietly. They stood on a dirt road in the early morning, and the very _air_ here was different. Even Kratos could feel it.

"South," Martel replied. "We go south."

"…Are you okay with this? We don't have to go."

Her eyes when she turned to him looked terribly old. _(He remembers his father's words, how elves and half-breeds are unnatural beings, living too long and playing with dark forces. It is something that Kratos has never agreed with, but now, at this very moment, he can feel a thrill of instinctual fear in him at the sight of eyes too old for such a young face)_ "Yes we do," she said.

Kratos could tell where her argument was going to go, and he had a sudden, fierce hatred for the words 'the greater good'. Why should they have to sacrifice everything for the world? What had the world done for them? It had brought them pain and suffering and anger. It had left them scarred and cracked.

But that was a fleeting thought. Kratos remembered good things too: his students at the capital, how excited they'd been to learn. Swimming in the ocean. Taking naps in the sunshine. Climbing a tree to ride out a storm. Comrades to have celebratory drinks with. And friends. It had brought him these wonderful friends who were so much family. These were the things worth fighting for. Worth sacrificing for.

She never voiced the argument, but the smile she gave him said it all. A sorrowful thing that, on someone else, would be a grimace. "Let's wake the others."

* * *

 

How did people _breathe_ in Heimdall? The air was incredibly thick and humid and Yuan found it incredibly disgusting how his shirt stuck to him. They'd all tucked their hair up and away to feel relatively cooler air on the backs of their necks.

This wasn't Heimdall proper yet, though. At least, according to Martel. This was a place called the Ymir Forest, through which the entrance to Heimdall was hidden.

Yuan took a step back when he saw a dark shape in the murky water. "Um—guys? There's something moving in there."

Martel followed his line of sight. "Those are fish."

"Fish are yea big." Yuan held his hands a few feet apart. "Maximum. Those things are as big as Noishe!"

The protozoan squawked in distaste at being compared to one of those fish, but he waded in a few steps, poking his beak into the water. Martel shrugged. "What do you want me to tell you? They're not going to hurt you."

_(He wants to ask how she knows, but then he doesn't think he wants to know why she had ever been in this swamp longer than she strictly had to be)_

"This place is like a maze," Kratos said, Mithos on his heels. They'd scouted ahead a bit, trying to find the way through. "You sure there's not some kind of illusion spell on this forest?"

"There didn't used to be."

None of them brought up the fact that it had been over ten years since Mithos and Martel had left their homeland. Relations between the elves and outsiders could only have worsened since then.

"Hang on." Mithos studied the area. He could see mana the way most people saw heat waves coming off of hot stones. Translucent, laid over the world like a threadbare scarf. In places like the Temples, the mana had run cleaner, more obvious, but only in the ranches, with their twisted, artificial magitechnology, had he seen it so suddenly and so vividly. Too vivid to be natural.

He had vague memories of mana being thicker, of it filling the world and shimmering like honey in sunlight. He'd thought it had just been a dream, or the imaginings of a too-bored child. But here, in the Ymir, if he focused, he could see the mana threading through everything. The water, the roots, the leaves. It wasn't quite as clear or as strong as his memories, but—mana had been running thin throughout the world due to the humans' magitechnology consuming it at such a rate.

Mithos climbed one of the trees, the broad, thick branches more than sturdy beneath his feet. The foliage was too thick to keep climbing upwards and anyway, these trees grew out more than they grew up, but from up here, if he closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind like Anish had taught him _(Listen to the wind. Feel it. Know its movements…)_

It was hard to feel mana without seeing it. Martel could do it, he thought. That was how Healers were supposed to work. But surely he could do it too.

He could hear the others calling for him, asking what on earth he was doing, but Mithos ignored them. Mana was a part of everything. Not just living things, but the earth, the stone, the sun—he'd seen the mana in all of it, felt it burning in the little pouch of precious stones that were symbols of the pacts. The elves—in Heimdall, it would logically be more concentrated than out here. If he could just find it—there? Perhaps?

Mana appeared like stars behind his eyelids, with its gentle pulses. Here, beneath the soil, oh yes, it was much stronger than in the human lands—or even the half-elven ones. It made sense that the animals out here would be so much larger; raised with so much mana, of course it would help in their growth and development.

"I think it's that way." Mithos pointed without opening his eyes.

"You moron, you think we can see you all the way up there?" Yuan called.

Mithos rolled his eyes and created a chain of witchlight in the direction he'd pointed. After he'd climbed down, he said, "We follow that and I think we can find Heimdall."

He saw Yuan and Kratos think about asking, but deciding not to. It was spooky sometimes, how in sync they were, but then, Mithos had been told that he and Martel did the same thing. Martel just watched him. He worried her, he knew. She didn't say as much, but seeing mana wasn't exactly a common thing and he'd heard the stores. People going mad from it, never being able to see the world in front of them.

While Mithos had managed to get them a general direction, it still took them quite a while to traverse the bridges half-swallowed by the swamp. Moths and mosquitos hovered close to the witchlight, and some curious boars and other monsters poked their heads close, but they never attacked.

"Something's wrong," Martel said, her entire body tense. "Last time, there were patrols throughout the forest, but we haven't seen anyone else."

"We don't know the situation," Kratos reminded her. "Maybe they don't have the manpower to keep regular guards out here anymore."

"Maybe…"

After another hour, the forest thinned, the swamp drying up. Yuan blinked, his eyes having adjusted to the dimmer light beneath the thick canopy.

There were stories of the elven lands. Of beautiful quartz cities dazzling in the sunlight, of whitewood towers arching towards the skies that the elves came from. Of elegant crystal palaces, ivy dripping from the rafters.

Yuan had no idea if those places really existed, but Heimdall didn't look like any of them.

Long, low wooden buildings built on stilts— _stilts_. It was such an odd idea, but Yuan remembered Martel mentioning that Heimdall flooded fairly regularly—with slanted straw roofs. It was difficult to see any details, but there was a river running through it, and Yuan could see some kind of marshy field in the distance.

They all froze as a shot of mana flew directly over their heads. They had to fight every instinct in them not to retaliate, instead holding up empty hands.

"We come in peace!" Martel shouted. "We're just travelers."

Tall men appeared from the twisted trees and the underbrush. They wore lightweight armor over short robes, their pale hair tucked and braided out of their long faces. "Outsiders aren't welcome in these parts."

"Look, we're going to Heimdall. Please. We mean no harm." Martel hissed as they wrenched her arm behind her back, shoving her forward so they walked. One of them confiscated her staff, as well as Kratos' sword and Yuan's spear.

"Wonderful. Let us escort you there," one of the guards said, his voice subtly vicious.

They didn't even have to walk far. Perhaps fifteen minutes. Yuan was annoyed with themselves; they were so close to getting to Heimdall on their own! They just had to hit the one patrol that existed in the whole damn Ymir.

"We have a letter of recommendation," Yuan snarled at the guard who held his arms behind his back.

"Convenient story," the guard said, forcing him to walk forward.

"You can verify it," Kratos said. "In my bag, there's a notebook. Inside of it is the letter."

"And why should I believe a human?"

"Hunir, what is all this about?" Another elf stepped out of one of the larger buildings. He wore a robe similar to the ones that Alstan and Myra wore. Deep black, but his were trimmed in shimmery lavender and they fell to his ankles.

Hunir—the leader of the guards—stepped forward. "Trespassers, sir. Three half-breeds and a human found by the Ymir."

The elf studied them. The only full blooded elves that Kratos and Yuan had ever met were Alstan and Myra, and their faces were so familiar that they hardly registered. They could see a lot of the elven blood in Mithos. High cheekbones, thin, long limbs. This elf's hair was silver, though it seemed as though that was a common color, regardless of age. His face had the beginnings of lines about his eyes and mouth.

"How did you make it so far past our borders?" he asked, though his accent was thick and difficult to understand. It made Kratos and Yuan realize how much of the accent Martel had lost.

"We walked," Yuan told him irritably. "We were going to show our travel papers and letter of recommendation at the gate, but your guards are so friendly, they insisted we didn't need them."

_(They've been walking in a hot, muggy swamp for almost two days. Yuan's been manhandled and talked down to, and he doesn't like the tension in Martel, a deer poised to run. He has no intention of being civil)_

The elf arched a feathery eyebrow. "Yes I can see you were entirely cooperative."

"Your guards are still in one piece, aren't they?"

"Not helping, Yuan," Kratos snapped.

"I will say this—no human has come here in centuries, and never uninvited."

"As we've been trying to tell you—we have our papers in order."

"So you've mentioned. What self-respecting elf would vouch for a human and a trio of half-breeds?"

"Half- _elves_ ," Kratos corrected coldly. "And the elve _s_ ," he stressed the plural. "That vouch for us are Alstan and Myranda."

"Myranda?" the elf repeated. "Vouching for a human?"

"Check the letter if you don't believe us."

The elf made a signal to Hunir, who searched Kratos' pack for the notebook. The letter was pressed safely between its pages.

The elf read the letter over carefully, studying the bottom intently. "That is certainly Myranda's handwriting." He looked back up at them. "But why would she vouch for you?"

"We're students of hers," Mithos said, taking a step forward. Yuan glanced at Martel she hadn't said a word since they'd entered the village. "Alstan's students as well."

His lips thinned at that. Kratos remembered that Alstan hadn't exactly left on the best of terms. "And you are?"

He tilted his chin proudly. "Mithos Yggdrasill. Is that a problem?"

_(Yuan wants to crow with pride at the defiance etched in every line of Mithos' body. At his utter refusal to be ashamed of who and what he is)_

Instead of answering, the elf looked between Mithos and Martel, studying them, before looking back at the papers. "You want to make a pact with Origin. Why?"

"To help stop the war," Mithos said. "Not that I expect you to understand that concept, since you've got yourselves a great hidey-hole."

Yuan snorted and Kratos ducked his head to hide a smile. It must have been a Yggdrasill trait, to manage such a polite tone that had such bite to it.

"We have had Origin's power on our side for millennia. Why do you think you'll be able to do any different?"

"Because he's not going to use it to hide." Martel's voice rang out, clear as a bell, her eyes flint-sharp and daring anyone to challenge her. _(This is the woman they love. Fierce and unwavering. She will only be backed into a corner for so long before she pushes back)_ "He's not going to use that power to ignore the fact that there's a war on your doorstep."

"So you intend to use it as a weapon?"

"If we have to." There was Martel the survivor, the one who had gotten them out of this village as children, who had made the journey across the world with a little brother and a staff.

"It's worked before on a smaller scale," Mithos added. "The city of Ravenatele was willing to surrender peacefully and there wasn't a single casualty on either side. That proves that it's possible, but for the entire human army to surrender? It'll take quite a bit more."

The elf's lips thinned. "This must be discussed with the Council. You will be kept under guard until then."

Kratos saw Yuan about to protest and he grabbed his wrist, squeezing just enough to be a warning. "We appreciate your time," Kratos said.

* * *

 

"It doesn't annoy you?" Yuan demanded. "That they're discussing our freedom and the entire world's future without even consulting us?"

"Welcome to being a woman," Martel said dryly.

"Of course it bothers me," Kratos answered. "Elves can live up to what, a thousand years?"

"It's rare for one to live that long," Martel told him. "Six hundred tends to be the average."

"Still. They look at time differently than you or I do. To them, human lives are barely anything. Even the oldest human would still be a child by their standards. They play a long game, Yuan, and we have to be careful of how we play it too. They're not as easy to predict as humans. Or even half-elves."

Yuan's mouth twisted, eyes flinty. "I can play a long game too." _(They're being treated like criminals, despite their travel papers that are—technically—not strictly legal considering they're not part of the military anymore. And the way the elves look at them, it's worse than the humans. The humans treated them like objects, sure, like they aren't people. The elves do the same thing, but they add a great deal of condescension and false pity into the mix and it pisses Yuan off even more)_

Their holding cell—for that was what it was, despite whatever the elves called it—was a small, square room in a building very low to the ground for a village built on stilts. "They wouldn't care if their prisoners drowned," Yuan grumbled. Their heads—minus Mithos'—hit the ceiling if they stood upright.

So they sat against a wall—there was a single, high window, too thin for a person to slip through—and tried to distract themselves. Martel's humming would taper off at points as her thoughts took over, before she came back. Mithos would join her, sometimes, but he eventually dozed off, his head in her lap.

The sun set and rose before someone came for them. An elf in rich green robes that did little to hide his paunch. Yuan wanted to hate him, to hate all the elves, for not having their farmlands ripped from them, for not having their flour mills burned to the ground. The elves were still well-fed, their people weren't starving, and still they hid.

"I understand that you are students of Alstan," the elf said.

Kratos lifted his head, unashamed. "We are. Why does that matter to you?"

"Well, my little brother hasn't written to his family in years, so—"

"Little brother?" Yuan interrupted.

"He mentioned you," Kratos remembered. "You're a priest of some kind."

When the elf's lips curled in an odd smile, Kratos could see a little bit of Alstan in him. "My name is Alaine, third son of Rosnain, and High Priest of Ratatosk."

They introduced themselves, and Mithos asked, "Why are you here?"

"I volunteered as a messenger. The Council came to a decision." The four of them sat up in interest, joints cracking from being in the same position too long. "We cannot contest the legality of your being here, but we can contest to taking the pact from the current pact-holder."

"So—what? You want us to sit and twiddle our thumbs?"

"What you do here is up to you. The Council dislikes the idea of giving a half-breed child the pact to the King."

Mithos stood, bristling. "Your current pact-holder hasn't done a single damn thing with that power. They're a placeholder, and we don't have space or time for that. There's a _war_ going on."

"You are too impulsive and that power cannot go unchecked."

Martel stood with difficulty, her legs having fallen asleep at some point. "I think you're lying."

Alaine looked at her coolly. He had the same pale blue eyes of every full-blooded elf they'd ever met. _(Eyes like the sky that they came from, are the whispers)_ "I assure you, I'm not."

"Not about the facts. I'm sure that those are your legitimate reasons for it, but you're making it sounds like his youth is the reason that you don't want to allow Mithos the pact. The real reason is because elves have this concept that they're superior to everyone else, and if a half-elf can hold the pact, then what does that mean for all of you?"

"Regardless of whatever delusions you may have, Miss Yggdrasill, the reasons are as stated and the boy won't be allowed to try for the pact."

"Y'know, I see why the elves stay in hiding," Yuan began. "Because then the rest of the world doesn't know what cowards you all are. Hiding from the world because you know that you're outmatched."

"Excuse me?" Alaine's eyes flashed red and they felt a press of mana. _(There is very little known on the Summon Spirit known as Ratatosk, but that is the first moment they feel his power)_

"He's right. Who holds the right of the pact to Origin?" Mithos asked, letting his own mana speak for itself, a low wave of power that had a menace behind it, and the scent of sea salt filled the air. Mithos was a child of Luna and Aska, that was true, but he was a child of Heimdall too, and Heimdall belonged to Undine.

"Our Master of Arms, Natael."

"May we speak with him?" Martel asked, catching onto her brother's plan. "Or is having conversations being prevented too?"

Alaine's brow furrowed, his mouth thin. "Not as long as you hold a civilized tongue."

"I'm not sure you would recognize it if I do," Martel said and the not so subtle venom in her voice made Kratos-and-Yuan hide a smile. Everyone who saw their little family was afraid of the two warriors, was wary of them. They might distrust Mithos, with his elf-pretty face and too-smart eyes. But no one looked at Martel, no one considered her anything more than part of the background. She'd made that her strength, had made it her weapon and it was incredibly satisfying to watch.

* * *

 

The Master of Arms ran a school for swordsmanship, and lived in a portion of the same building. They found it with relative ease, due to some of the students drilling outside.

"Your plan is to duel him for the right of the pact?" Yuan repeated in a harsh whisper. Their weapons had been returned to them upon their leaving of the holding cell.

"Do you have a better idea?" Mithos snapped. "We can't waste time playing their political games." Just before they'd crossed the border, they'd heard words from troupers going north that the half-elves had lost a significant battle the week before. Mithos could feel the time slipping away from them, even as he tried not to feel the guilt. If they were faster, if they were better, the war could have been over already. Or they would have been there for the battle and made the difference.

"He's concerned about your odds," Kratos explained. "Your swordsmanship has improved, but that man has had centuries of fighting experience."

"We have to take the chance."

"Of the four of us, Yuan and Kratos are the best fighters," Martel said slowly. "And more than likely, they'll limit the magic you can use in the duel. If they do limit it, Kratos is our best chance."

"But I can't form a pact! I'm not a summoner."

"No," Mithos said slowly. Kratos felt something in his stomach sink at the look in Mithos' eyes; it was always a sign of an impending leap in logic that left the rest of them fumbling. "But you can hold a pact. Anyone can _hold_ a pact; the thing that makes a summoner is the ability to form them and be able to use summoning magic."

"This is a terrible idea," Yuan muttered.

"I'm open to better ones."

Mithos was merciful enough to give Yuan a full minute to think of a better plan before turning and striding up to an elf who stood on the porch, watching the drilling students. Martel sighed—she wanted to say something about respecting elders, or authority, or something along those lines, as a proper older sister or mother should, but it _would_ be rather hypocritical coming out of her now.

"Excuse me," Mithos began and the three of them were rather grateful that he at least began the conversation with manners. "I'm looking for Natael? The Master at Arms?"

The thing about full blooded elves was that they naturally looked entirely too delicate to seem much of a threat. Kratos had asked Alstan about it once, back in the military school. He had explained that elves didn't build muscle the way that humans did. The muscles developed, but they didn't grow large and fill out their frames like humans.

So when the elf looked at Mithos, it was with a face that didn't match his eyes. Too young and unlined, with the characteristic pale hair and eyes. "And why would you be looking for me?"

"I understand that you hold the pact for Origin."

"I do." There it was. That same flash in his eyes that Kratos associated with Mithos whenever he watched him do his grander spells. "What does that matter?"

"Because I need it."

Natael snorted. "I refuse. No half-breed will ever hold our King's pact."

"Then what about a human?" Kratos said, raising his voice as he strode forward.

"You're fools the lot of you. Humans cannot do magic, and therefore cannot be summoners."

"You didn't say 'summon'. You said 'hold the pact'." Kratos felt something in his gut settle, like a crystal clear lake, like mirror-like water. There was no nervousness in him, no fear. It was the place he'd found when he'd killed his father, a place he'd been afraid to go back to. But there was nothing to fear from it; the only reason he should be afraid of it was because he hadn't been able to control it. But he could now, could relax into that water place with the same ease that he drew his sword, and he could leave the same way. "You don't have to have elven blood in you to hold the pact."

Natael stepped down from the porch, and he was still a good half a head taller than Kratos. "The pact of Origin is based on its holder's life. Humans don't risk their lives for other races."

"Yes, they do." Mithos was half of Natael's height, but he still stood unafraid. It was an admirable sight. "Kratos has risked his life for us before. But you elves don't understand that concept; you guys hide behind your borders like cowards, waiting to see who survives. What the hell do you care, right? You guys will outlive every single person on those battlefields."

"You know not of what you speak, half-breed. You do not know what we have sacrificed."

"Yes, we do." Mithos' calm voice was something jarring when they were so used to his temper. Perhaps he was taking a leaf out of Martel's book. "You've sacrificed brothers, and fathers, and uncles, and sons. You've lost homes, and friends, and families. It's the same that we've lost, except instead of facing the problem, your people chose to hide away from the fighting like a child under the covers, hoping the monster under his bed isn't real.

"But the monster is. The _war_ is _real_. No hiding will ever change that fact. You guys have the power to change things, to affect the tide of the war, and you're choosing to do nothing. We are striving for peace. Let us earn the right to the pact and use Origin's power to settle this war so that there are no more bombs falling from the sky, and families being separated and slaughtered."

It was a good speech. Yuan was privately impressed at Mithos' eloquence, and vaguely envious of how much attention Mithos could command, of how his voice travelled.

_(The half-breed child has seen war. As had Natael, before his sword-arm had been taken from him. He can use it, but it will never be strong enough to hold a sword again. He has trained with his off-arm, but it will never be good enough for the battlefield. For a duel, however, particularly against a human of all people. The courage that the child displays is more than most of his students. For that, Natael is willing to give them a duel)_

"Very well. No human can best me in battle, but if you manage, you may hold the pact, assuming, of course, that you are able to earn it from the King as well."

There were murmurs of interest from the students nearby and other nearby onlookers moved to make a large rough circle that would serve as the ring. "Our laws of combat are quite simple. Even you lot should be able to understand them."

Kratos didn't rise to the bait, watching Natael move. He was clearly an experienced fighter, movements perfectly balanced. He would move faster than even a trained half-elf, logically, being fully elven, but Kratos had trained with both Mrya and Alstan, so the speed wouldn't be completely alien to him.

"There will be no use of armor. Each of us will be allowed a sword only."

"Is it to the death?" Kratos asked quietly, removing his travelling cape.

"We are not so barbaric. First blood."

Kratos nodded and stood so he faced Natael, who held his sword in his left hand. Odd, but not unheard of. Kratos glanced at Natael's right arm; in the sunlight, a white scar was visible on the underside of his forearm. An injury then, and not his natural inclination.

He could work with that. And Natael's natural arrogance—something that Kratos was very willing to pin as a trademark of elvish blood—would play against him. He didn't expect anything from a human.

He mimicked Natael's bow, both keeping their eyes on each other.

There was no whistle of start, no ten paces to walk. Just an electric silence.

Kratos jerked to the side as the sword came towards him in a powerful thrust. Powerful, but he caught the way that Natael's feet slid to catch up with his body. Sloppy. He'd been thinking this whole thing would be over with one thrust. After all, humans couldn't move fast enough to keep up with elves, theoretically.

Kratos dodged Natael's strikes, just barely. He exaggerated his movements, moving slower in obvious, wide swings. He blocked some, making it look panicky, like a last-ditch effort.

Mithos tugged at Yuan's hand, a question on his face. Kratos was a much better swordsman than this, so why would he be moving like a novice?

Yuan grinned wolfishly, pride gleaming in his eyes as he watched his best friend. How far he'd come from barely being able to lift a sword. "Trust him, kid. Kratos isn't just a pretty face and a strong arm."

Natael came with a strike around to Kratos' ribs. Seeing his opportunity, Kratos moved to Natael's inside, keeping his sword close to his body as a guard while he used his free hand to grab Natael's shirt. Kratos' leg hooked behind Natael's calf as he shoved him away, sending Natael toppling.

Martel cheered, recognizing the move as something Shadow's monks had taught her that she'd been working with Kratos on. Kratos moved quicker than he had the entire duel to step on Natael's left wrist. Not hard, but with a warning pressure.

"Do you yield?" Kratos asked, his sword pointed at Natael's throat.

Natael bared his teeth. "First blood, human. You've done nothing but run." He made to get up, but Kratos increased the pressure on his wrist until he stilled, hissing in pain.

Slowly, Kratos moved the point of his sword to Natael's shoulder where he drew the smallest of lines in blood. "First blood," he said. "I've earned the right to hold Origin's pact, by honorable combat."

Kratos stepped away, taking his cloak back from Yuan to wipe the drop of blood from his sword before sheathing it.

"You call that honorable, fighting below your true abilities?" Natael asked, getting to his feet.

"We both know that I would have a difficult time beating you all out. I'm not ashamed to admit it. So I chose to take advantage of your arrogance."

Natael's mouth twisted in anger. "You go too far."

Kratos met his temper calmly. "No, I don't. Your arrogance left you blind to the fact that while the matter of my race is a factor in our physical endeavors, it is not the _deciding_ factor."

"…A fair point," Natael conceded. "I do not know that you will be able to create the pact with our King, but I will not fight his decision."

* * *

 

Yuan laughed that night over their supper of honeyed rice and fish. "Brilliant! The look on his face is something I'll never forget."

"That was really clever," Mithos said, ripping his bread roll in half. "Playing his expectations to your advantage. Making him see what you wanted him to see."

"I learned it from watching Martel, actually." Kratos smiled at her. "If people are going to judge you by something like your appearance, make them pay for it."

It was something he'd seen in many women, actually. People thought them weak, or harmless. They had expectations about their actions, their abilities. And Martel liked to spit in people's faces with her strength and her talent.

Mithos barked a laugh. "I told you you were devious, Kratos."

Yuan held up his canteen in a toast. "Kratos Aurion, master of misdirection."

They all bumped canteens, even as they teased Kratos for the redness of his ears.

* * *

 

They'd all agreed it was too hot to sleep in a pile like they often did. They kept the window in their small room at the inn open, a close-knit net nailed to the outside to keep insects out. There was little breeze to be coaxed inside, however. Mithos had made a small Icicle in a bowl in the center of the room in an attempt to combat the heat. Mana was the only thing holding it together, but it worked at least a little.

Martel stepped carefully around Yuan, who slept near her, but not touching, his hair tucked up in a bun to keep it away from him. They were all in the least amount of clothing possible and she dug up her dress from her traveling pack to slip it over her head.

She heard shifting from behind her. Kratos' bleary eyes peered up from behind crusty eyelids. "'vry'hing okay?"

"Yeah," she murmured. "It's just too hot. I'm gonna take a walk. Go back to sleep."

"m'kay."

She stepped carefully around the bowl with the Icicle. Mithos had managed to finally get some sleep. They all had. Martel was only partially lying about the heat; she was the most used to it, but that didn't make it pleasant. It was the memories that were keeping her completely awake.

_(She can't stop hearing her neighbors barging in, the firelight flickering on the walls. Her uncle shooing them out the back—"Run, Martel. Don't look back."—before going to the front of the small house. Mithos in her arms as she ran, his sleepy questions slowly turning to panic as he realized what was happening._

_They'd been spotted on the main road. Martel's bare feet slapping the dirt. Mithos is beginning to cry and they'd hurled spells and stones at them, even as some tried to take catch her, to hold her down for a proper execution. Because apparently being a half-elf is a crime now, because of their dirty blood, because they are the problem with the elven lands, poisoning the mana and causing the Kharlan Tree to die)_

Mithos was more prone to nightmares than she was. A product of his age, more than likely, and so if he's sleeping so calmly now, Martel could only be grateful that Mithos had been too young to properly remember Heimdall. He deserved happy memories.

Heimdall was a generally quiet village. It wasn't populated enough to have buildings hemming in streets, and people working at all hours of the night and day. After years of living in the half-elven capital, it was a strange adjustment. Martel pushed her hair out of her face and behind her shoulders, looking around at the silent buildings. The lack of people outside made it easier to relax. The only reason Heimdall was counted as one of the more major elven towns was because of its proximity to Origin's Altar. Otherwise, it would just be another village.

A candle blew out in one of the windows, and Martel kept walking. There were no streets of stone here. All dirt roads and wild grass. The more traditional elves would be aghast at cities outside of elven territories; with all of their stone and iron. She began walking in a direction that looked vaguely familiar. There had been a field where her father had liked to take her on some nights, to sit and talk about shooting stars and planets, even as he sat with his notebook and wrote things down.

"The elves came from another planet, you know," she remembered him saying. She remembered his words, but not his voice. Not today. Today his voice was a distant thing. "Perhaps there are other planets with other kinds of people out there."

Martel encountered no one on her walk, though she got a bit lost. No other insomniacs here, no soldiers with missing limbs, smoking with haunted eyes. No nurses throwing out buckets of waste and scrubbing bandages. No people standing watch. What an alien life this was, to not be concerned about a war. To not fear bombs falling from the sky.

She eventually found the field. The grass was damp and squishy beneath her feet and between her toes. The field was blossoming with pale flowers that glowed faintly with the mana they exuded. Lunara blossoms , Martel had heard them called. They had grown near Undine's Temple as well as Luna and Aska's. Martel's father had said that the elven name for them was _sylvinia_.

"It's where your mother's name comes from," he'd said. "Why don't you pick some for her?"

Martel lay down among the _silvinias_. Her mother was more difficult to remember. Her hands had always been dry and soft, and she'd made candles and soap from beeswax. Her father used to say that Martel was pretty, just like her mom, but Martel had never been able to see it. Sylvia Velluntin was a lovely woman in Martel's memory; with the characteristic silver hair and blue eyes—eyes that Mithos had inherited. Mithos looked more like her, with the angular face and long nose. To be fair, Martel didn't see much of her father in herself either.

"Planning on taking a nap?" Martel jumped up, a spell circle forming beneath her on instinct. How had she not heard them approach? "Odd place for it, but I won't judge you."

The man stood several feet away, hands in his pockets. A smirk was playing on the edges of his lips. "Well, I won't judge you for _that_ anyway."

"Who are you?"

"Just another insomniac, so relax."

Martel let the spell circle dim and fade, but she didn't drop her guard entirely. It was possible that she'd been so distracted that she hadn't heard him, but even then, he must have been extraordinarily quiet. "Sorry. I'm just a bit jumpy."

The man shrugged. "I heard about all the commotion this morning. You and your friends are the most exciting thing to happen in this town for a few decades. From what I understand, you've earned the right to be jumpy."

He sat near her without asking, moving with an animalistic grace as he folded his long legs under him. Martel still didn't sit down.

"You don't seem concerned that I'm a half-elf," Martel said warily.

The man arched a brow at her. He was handsome, Martel supposed, with brown skin and his eyes a bright enough green that they were visible even in the dimness. They were odd eyes, too old for the fairly young face, but they suited him somehow. They didn't bother Martel like most full blooded elves' eyes did. "Should I be?"

"Most people are."

"Well. I'm not most people. Now either sit down or back up 'cause I don't appreciate people looming."

Martel snorted despite herself, taking a seat beside him. "When you say it like that, how can I refuse?"

The man plucked one of the blossoms and propped his elbows on his knees. He twirled the flower between spindly fingers. "So. What brings a bunch of half-elves and a human out here? It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke."

"You'd probably laugh."

He hummed. "I could probably do with a laugh. Carry on."

Martel rolled her eyes at his falsely imperious tone, earning her a quick-fire smile. ""We're here to make pacts with Origin and—possibly—Ratatosk."

The man's eyes gleamed with private humor. "Let no one say that you dream small. You'll have a tough time with Alaine. He's not a man to give up his power easily."

"He would still be a High Priest even without the pact. And he's not _doing_ anything with the power either."

His smile turned sly and he looked away, out towards the field and the stream that was somewhere out there. Martel had found it by accident and it had taken her fifteen minutes to find a bridge. "You're very perceptive, but he likes his illusion that he's doing something with that power. Likes to fancy that he's part of the reason the war has stayed away from Heimdall."

"Because they're cowards the lot of them."

"No arguments here."

Martel pinched the bridge of her nose. "I was hoping this could all go more diplomatically."

"If what I saw earlier today is your idea of diplomacy, I think this war will never end."

She leaned back on her arms, stretching her legs out. "You talk as if you know Alaine."

His lips curled in a shark's smile; too many teeth and undeniably threatening. "We're well acquainted. Personally, I'd be quite happy to be rid of the bastard."

"Why?"

_(Most people flinch from his temper, from the clear animalistic tendencies. This woman doesn't, hasn't. It's rather refreshing)_

"Because you're right. He's too timid. Too accustomed to hoarding power and staying comfy on his cushion when there's work to be done."

"Do you think the same of Natael?"

He paused, turning the question over in his mind. "He put in his time. He was a soldier, and he's trained future generations when he wasn't capable of being a soldier anymore. The issue with him Is that he's become accustomed to being the strongest man in the room, and all of Heimdall has become accustomed to a time without war."

"Complacency breeds rebellion."

The man laughed, a warm sound that rolled over Martel like a summer wind. "Exactly. I like that." He repeated her words. "Wonderful."

They sat in an oddly comfortable silence, considering they were complete strangers. Martel stroked the petals of a nearby blossom. "There used to be so many more of these when I was growing up."

"They're very mana-dependent, even for flowers. The longer this war goes on, the less mana there is to go around." He turned to look at her, and Martel had the vaguely discomfiting sensation of being looked through. "You say you grew up here?"

"Yes. For a short while."

He made a noise of acknowledgment. "I'm sure. Heimdall isn't kind to half-elves."

"They're all blind, arrogant racists," Martel said venomously, the memories of so long ago still burning at the edges of her mind.

"Indeed they are. I don't think I ever got your name."

"Martel Yggdrasill."

"Yggdrasill?" The man perked up. "Was your father a botanist, by chance?"

"I—yes."

He beamed, transforming his whole face into something lovely. "I remember him! He was studying the Kharlan Tree, originally."

"Originally?"

"Yes. He was very dedicated. At some point, he met this girl and he wouldn't stop gushing about how wonderful she was. I wondered what happened to him."

"I never knew he studied the Kharlan Tree."

"It's why he came all the way out here. Heimdall is one of the closest villages to it. He was a good man, your father. Hard-working, curious. Ballsy too, which you seem to have inherited."

Martel's laughter rang out, echoing through the night and startling an owl. "Well. I've certainly been called ballsy before."

A gentle whisper of wings and a soft trill were all that announced Noishe's presence before he landed. He pecked gently at Martel's toes, making her giggle as she drew them back. "Come to corral me back?"

Noishe bobbed his head up and down.

"I figured." Martel sighed, clambering to her feet. "You're worse than a sheepdog, honestly."

Noishe nipped at her arm in retaliation. The man chuckled. "Well, I see that you have an escort home. Enjoy the rest of your night."

By the time Martel turned to thank him and ask for his name, the man was nowhere to be seen. Martel looked at Noishe. "You saw him, right? I'm not hallucinating?"

Noishe shook his head, ruffling his feathers. Martel hoped that that was a response to her second question, not the first.

* * *

 

"And he said that it has to be a trial by combat? No rituals or anything?" Mithos asked. Kratos had gone to Natael after breakfast to learn specifics of what was needed to make the pact.

Kratos shook his head. "No. Apparently, while Origin has some rituals, they're more of a personal thing than for something like making a pact. And it makes sense; he is the Spirit of Warriors, isn't he?"

Martel nodded. "He was more than though. He's also the Spirit of Justice as well. Being the King, his name is usually invoked for any court rulings."

"That doesn't help us though. Great." Mithos huffed a breath, drumming his fingers on the table. "All we have to do is fight the King of Summon Spirits."

"Easy peasy," Yuan said, trying for levity, but he knew that none of the others would believe it.

"Well, I have kind of an important question," Mithos said. "Where do we even find Origin's Altar here? The other Spirits had entire Temples dedicated to them. Why does Origin only get an Altar? You think it would be the reverse, considering he's the King."

Martel smiled at her little brother, resting her chin in her hand. "I remember hearing that—theoretically—since Origin is the Spirit of Matter, the world itself is his Temple."

"That sounds…presumptuous."

"What, the elves? Presumptuous?" Yuan put a mocking hand on his heart. "Say it isn't so!"

Kratos snorted. "Getting back to the original point, I asked Natael that. He said that the Altar is in the Torent Valley, on the other side of the orchards."

_(Martel remembers the orchards. It had been the site of many a childish dare. See if you can pick fruit without people noticing. How high up the tree will you climb? How deep in will you go? It had seemed like such a vast place in her memories, endless rows of citrus, and durian, papaya dangling from their lanky trunks, cherries with their pretty blossoms)_

"We'll take a day to rest," Martel said. "We've been travelling hard for two months now. Tomorrow we'll fight him."

Yuan's nose wrinkled, but he agreed. He didn't want to spend any more time in this village—hell, in this entire territory, honestly—if he didn't have to. "We need to stock up on supplies and stuff anyway. We're gonna eat real food for a while."

Salted meats and fresh game were all well and good, but they'd run out of rice weeks ago, and hardtack was hardly a substitute for bread. As Yuan had been learning, only very specific things grew well in this kind of climate—"It's the soil, mostly," Martel had corrected him. "It's too wet and sandy."—and none of them knew the vegetation well enough to say for sure what was safe to eat.

"Shopping sounds like a plan," Kratos said, leaning forward. "How much money do we have left?"

Martel grabbed their purse from her pack, upending it so they could count it out. "Not much. A little less than five hundred gald."

"And how much you wanna bet that the elves are gonna put a special half-elf tax on the goods for us?" Yuan crossed his arms, leaning his hip on the table. "Let's see what we can get."

* * *

 

"Called it," Yuan muttered as the shopkeeper told them the price for a sack of rice and some onions. Then, a little louder, he said, "Why's it more expensive? Sign right there says fifty-five gald per pound."

"It's an old sign," the shopkeeper said, as though daring him to argue.

"Oh really? Old enough that you didn't think half-elves could read it?"

"You're just lucky your human master decided he wanted some use out of you besides hard lab—"

The shopkeeper didn't finish the sentence due to Yuan's fist slamming into his face. He dropped the gald on the counter. "Pleasure doing business with you," Yuan said, baring his teeth in an approximation of a polite smile.

Yuan half-expected Kratos to say something about punching the shopkeeper, but Kratos just hauled the sack of rice over his shoulder as Yuan tucked the onions into another, smaller sack that they kept their vegetables in.

Kratos would have protested once, would have said that Yuan was being too reckless and violent. Yuan wasn't sure if he was glad for Kratos' silence, or not.

Martel and Mithos had wanted to go shopping, but Martel had hesitated, taking Mithos' hand so he wouldn't follow them. "I think you should go on your own, Kratos."

It wasn't like Martel to be nervous, and seeing how _small_ this village and these elves made her feel wasn't helping Yuan's mood. So he'd gone with Kratos because he would be _damned_ if he was going to hide in a village where everyone already knew who they were and why they were here. _(He can't blame Martel for hiding though. He doesn't know the details of what happened to her and Mithos when they'd been exiled, but he knows that just having the courage to walk into this village is a lot for Martel right now. Mithos, smart kid that he is, hasn't argued as much since they've been here)_

"This is probably gonna sound insulting," Kratos began as they walked towards another store, and Yuan stared at him because how often was Kratos actually insulting to him? They used playful insults, but nothing actually offensive that Kratos would feel the need to warn him for. "But…do you ever wish that you could pass? For an elf, I mean. Or human. Either."

Huh. Kratos was right. It _did_ sound insulting. Yuan knew full well that he _looked_ like a half-elf. It was obvious, just from his build and his face. Martel, maybe, could pass as an elf—if she ever dyed her hair, she could definitely do it—and Mithos when he was older would certainly be able to, but Yuan had never and would never be able to do it.

Yuan didn't look at Kratos when he answered, choosing instead to look out at all the elves milling about their day. Pale hair, pale eyes, tall and lean. Mama looked like that, on her good days. She hadn't had the coloring for an elf outside of her eyes—which Yuan had inherited, though his were greener—but she'd been built like one. _(He can't remember Poppi anymore. The most he gets is a bare snippet of his voice. Yuan isn't sure if he's upset about his fading memory. It's not like he and Poppi were ever even close or anything)_

"…Growing up, I wanted to. It would've made things a lot easier for us, y'know? I would've liked to be able to go into hiding and pretend nothing else was going on."

"I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't," Yuan scoffed, tossing Kratos a fond look. "It wasn't something I thought about very often. And now? If anyone wants to shame me for how I look than they can screw off. I'm not ashamed of being a half-elf anymore."

Kratos' proud smile surprised him. "Good. I was just, a little curious. I'm not completely human anymore, but I _look_ it, so I just, wanted to know."

"You're such a dork."

_(He doesn't know if Kratos had intended for the question to distract him from the bubbling anger at being talked down to like that. Yuan is no slave, and he refuses to let Kratos be insulted either by being called a slave owner. But the anger has cooled a bit, and with a sidelong look at his best friend, Yuan thinks that 'devious' is indeed a good word for him because Kratos knows exactly what he'd been doing)_

* * *

 

Natael, as well as several dozen other elves including Alaine, followed them to Origin's Altar. Elegantly carved in stone, it looked to Mithos more like a grave marker than an altar. Which, incidentally, didn't fill him with an overwhelming amount of confidence.

Mithos stepped up to the altar. "I request the presence of Origin, King of Summon Spirits."

A form shimmered to life above the marker. Muscular, with four arms and an imposing stare. A cape sewn from sunsets trailed from his shoulders, and below the waist, he seemed to be little more than starlight.

"How very polite, requesting my presence. Who so does?"

"My name is Mithos Yggdrasill, and I wish for you to annul your pact with Natael to form a new one with me."

"You must prove your worth." Mithos could feel the air popping like his ears underwater as Origin hardened mana itself into four lances. No fear.

They barely got a chance to blink before Origin was on them, a whirlwind of lances and sheer _power_ pressing on them. Kratos and Yuan stayed close, trying to keep him occupied while Mithos worked on a Gravity Well. It was the only dark spell he could have a chance at doing successfully, and it took him an extraordinary amount of effort and concentration.

Yuan and Kratos shot other, smaller spells at Origin, but he hardly seemed to feel the effects, even when a Thunder Blade went through him. Absolute spells freeze their fingers to their weapons, slicking the ground in a layer of ice. Yuan narrowly avoided a Thunder Arrow, feet slipping and sliding as he skidded out of the way.

Martel's Barriers only held up so much against such powerful spells and blows. Even with the Barrier, Kratos' felt his teeth buzz with every block. "Just summon Shadow!" he shouted to Mithos when no Gravity Well came. They couldn't afford to keep this up for long.

He didn't see Yuan get hit. All he knew was that at one point, he was stepping out of the way of a stab and he stumbled over his friend, who was trying to stop the bleeding from a gash in his shoulder.

"C'mon." Kratos helped Yuan stand, Martel layering Barriers as he half-dragged Yuan out of Origin's range. Mithos leapt in with his sword, providing a distraction. Martel dashed over, smelling of soot from an Explosion she'd been too close too.

"I've got him. Go help Mithos."

Between the two of them, Kratos and Mithos managed to do enough damage to at least slow Origin down. They felt a Nurse spell wash over them, with the citrus taste of Martel's mana following. A few moments later, another Thunder Blade boomed through the air, pinning Origin in place. Kratos chanced a glance back at Yuan, whose arm was in a sling, but spell circles were glowing beneath him with a fierce complexity.

Finally, Origin disappeared in a flash of light, reappearing above his altar. "You have fought well."

"Have we earned the right to the pact?" Mithos asked, breathing hard.

Origin blinked slowly at him. "Why do you desire my power?"

"The world has been has been at war for too long. It needs to stop."

"And you think my power would help you achieve this?"

"Yes."

"I have seen empires rise and fall, I have watched the birth of mountains, witnessed the birth and death of stars. There have been a hundred thousand wars to be stopped. Why is yours any different?"

"Are you blind?" Mithos demanded, making Martel sigh. Apparently 'ballsy' was a family trait. "This war isn't like the others. The world is _dying_. Mana is running short, everyone is suffering, and your pact-holder sits comfortably away from the battles because elves have this _insane_ notion that the war has nothing to _do_ with them."

"War only begets more war."

Mithos spoke a little clearer, having caught his breath. A line of blood dripped down his face from a strike with the butt of one of the lances. "We're trying to find a peaceful way to end it. No one _wants_ a war, ad peace _is_ possible, but only if everyone—and that includes you—is willing to work together."

Origin's chuckle reverberated like an earthquake. "You are a brave one, Mithos Yggdrasill. I will accept your vow. Use my power well."

"Kratos Aurion will be the one to hold the pact though."

Kratos' legs were unsteady enough from exhaustion. Having the full weight of Origin's stare on him didn't help. "And why do you entrust the pact to another?"

The four of them glanced at each other. Finally, Mithos answered with all the pert frankness of smart aleck teenagers, "Well, we were told that no half-elf would ever hold your pact."

_(The others don't hear it. The sound is not audible to mortals. But Origin's bark of laughter echoes through the stars themselves. This summoner, this, Mithos Yggdrasill, would at the very least never be boring)_

Origin nodded slowly. "Very well."


	73. A Sickness

_"Always bear in mind that your own resolution to succeed is more important than any other thing."_  
-Abraham Lincoln  


* * *

Three nights after they formed the pact with Origin, Yuan was stirred awake by his fiancée shifting in their bed. Mithos and Kratos had put their heads together and found a way to lower the intensity of a wind spell so that it would just circulate the air in the room, which was already cooler thanks to Mithos' Icicle.

Yuan was still sleeping on his left side so as not to aggravate his still-healing shoulder. He grumbled and snuggled into his pillow a bit more as Martel moved away from him. Martel's internal clock woke her at dawn pretty much every day. He heard her chuckle and felt the gentle press of her lips on his temple. He was nearly all the way back asleep when he heard a scream.

In an instant, Yuan was on his feet, Kratos and Mithos fumbling for their weapons while Yuan moved towards the bathroom.

"Martel?!" Yuan gave her a moment to respond before slamming the door open with his good shoulder.

Martel stood naked in front of the long mirror, hands covering her mouth in horror.

"Sweetheart, what—?"

The wind was knocked out of Yuan when Kratos and Mithos skidded into his back. "Are you okay?"

"Guys, I think I'll handle this one," Yuan said slowly, gingerly shifting his injured shoulder.

Now that their suddenly-awake minds were processing the situation, Mithos and Kratos obeyed, glancing back warily.

Yuan shut the bathroom door behind him. "Martel, honey, what's wrong?"

When he reached for her, she _flinched_. Yuan froze. She'd only ever reacted to him like that when she was in the middle of a nightmare, which Yuan had rapidly learned not to wake her from.

Martel fixed her eyes on him. "I don't know what's wrong." Her voice was quiet, hoarse and terrified. " _Look_ at me."

When Martel dropped her hands, Yuan stared at the odd bluish tinge to her skin. It was all along the bony edges of her, collarbones, elbows, edging around her forehead. Upon closer inspection, Yuan found that they were textured, a little rough, almost like scales.

"What on earth?" Yuan breathed.

"What am I?" Hysteria crept into Martel's voice.

"Hey—no." Yuan wrapped his arms around her. This time, she didn't flinch away. "You're not a _what_. Understand me?"

"Those are _scales_ , Yuan. That's—that's _monstrous_."

Yuan cupped her face in his hands. The scales were on the ridge of her brow too, but they were a little harder to see due to her eyebrows. He felt them beneath his hands along the edge of her jaw. "There is no universe where you're a monster. We're going to figure this out, okay?"

A moment. She was resolutely not looking at him.

He gently tipped her head up, kissing her forehead, her nose, her lips. "Have I ever been wrong?"

She snorted.

"About anything _important_ , smartass."

Her lips twitched, her eyes not as wide. "No."

"Exactly. And there is nothing and no one more important than you. So therefore—you're gonna be just fine."

Yuan felt her shoulders shake with an inaudible chuckle as she buried her face in his chest, her arms tight around his waist. Yuan waited until Martel drew away to let her go.

Martel pushed her loose hair from her face, taking a long, stuttering breath. _(Yuan has never doubted the strength and unwavering determination in Martel's bones. He hopes that she knows she doesn't have to be strong for him, but he knows that there is no point in telling her that. Changing Martel's mind on something is near impossible)_

"I'm gonna finish my bath," she said.

Yuan smiled wryly. "Start it, you mean?"

Her lips twitched again, the closest she could get to a smile right now. "Calm the others down for me?"

"Yes ma'am."

* * *

Kratos almost dropped his precious mug of coffee—they've had it sparingly since leaving the military.

"Scales?" Mithos repeated.

Yeah. Neither of you have ever heard of anything like this, right?" Yuan sighed when they shook their heads. "I thought not."

* * *

Kratos said nothing to Martel about her affliction. But as she stood in the doorway of their room, hesitating, Kratos offered her his hooded cloak. She'd covered up as much as possible, with long sleeves and her shirt with a higher neckline, but the ones on her face were still visible.

"It won't make you invisible," Kratos told her. "But it'll help."

Martel drew the cloak around her thankfully. His wasn't as thick as hers, so at least she wasn't as likely to die of heatstroke.

Yuan had already sent a note to Myra, asking for her expertise. Noishe had been hesitant to go, which was an indicator of how serious this might be. Noishe was protective of all of them, but he had never hesitated to leave before.

"Excuse me," Mithos asked the innkeeper. "Where can we find a Healer?"

The innkeeper glanced between the four of them. Elves were terrible gossips, they'd found, and therefore, all of Heimdall now knew about the half-elves who'd managed to forge a pact with the King of Spirits. It had improved their interactions with them but not a lot.

"The House of Healing is near Undine's Altar."

"Thank you."

* * *

While Martel sat in an examination room, Mithos paced the main room where they'd been given explicit instructions to sit on their hands so that they didn't touch anything.

Bunches of herbs tied together hung from the rafters of the House of Healing. There were a few pots simmering on stoves, rolls of bandages neatly organized on shelves beside books on anatomy. Charts cross-referencing height and body weight for dosages were nailed to the walls. Containers of gels were neatly labelled alongside jars of salve.

How nice they had it, Mithos sneered mentally. A surplus of supplies and space for the few longtime patients, a rotation of Healers so that they actually had a few days off. The floors here were not bloodstained, there were no desperate prayers whispered so fervently that the very walls remembered them. Patients were not screaming themselves awake, their eyes were not haunted with horrors, staring at their missing limbs. The elves were sitting in peace and luxury while others were sacrificing everything to try and end this war.

Mithos jumped when he felt Yuan's grip on his forearm.

"Leash that temper, boyo," Yuan murmured. "'Anger has no place in a healing room', remember?"

 _(Mithos wants to snap at him. Can he not_ see _what Mithos sees? But then he looks again at Yuan's face, at the tension in his jaw and the tightness around his eyes that is more than simply concern for Martel's health. Yes, Yuan sees it too, and of course it enrages him, but Yuan won't risk Martel's health)_

Mithos took a seat between Kratos and Yuan. Kratos was eyeing the gels and bandages. Mithos wondered if, somewhere inside, Kratos wanted to steal them. Kratos didn't get outwardly angry about a lot of things; he was more of the 'don't get mad, get even' type. Stealing some of their abundant supplies was petty, but the elves obviously didn't need it as much.

"…Is Martel gonna be okay?" Mithos asked finally. His voice, even when he spoke quietly, sounded too loud in this room.

Yuan looked over at him, and at Kratos over Mithos' head. A lot of times, it was easy to forget that Mithos was only recently thirteen. He usually acted so much older.

"Honestly, I don't know," Kratos said gently. He tucked loose strands of Mithos' hair back. "But it _is_ Martel we're talking about. If anyone can out-stubborn whatever this is, it's her."

After another twenty minutes, Martel came out of the exam room, pale and looking not all there. The boys were on their feet immediately, Mithos' hand slipping in hers.

"Well?" they asked in unison.

The Healer shook her head. "I've never seen something like this before. I've never even heard rumors about it. I'm afraid I can't help you."

* * *

They waited in Heimdall for five more days until Noishe came back. The letter that returned was a bittersweet one.

 _I haven't heard of anything like that myself_ , wrote Myra, _but I consulted with Alstan and the others. There have been some curious cases of odd monsters roaming the hills where soldiers disappeared. I'm unsure if they're related. We are investigating it, and Alstan is reaching out to any dwarven contacts he has in case they know something of this phenomenon. Stay in Heimdall. I will send word there when we consolidate what we find._

* * *

"A dwarven mining sickness?" Martel repeated two weeks later as she read Myra's next letter. "I've never even set foot in a mine."

"Outside of Gnome and Shadow's Temple, none of us have. But if you caught it then, why didn't any of us catch it too?" Mithos pointed out. "And I was in Gnome's Temple longer than you guys were."

"Perhaps females are more susceptible to it? But don't you think it would've been mentioned to us?"

"Maybe it only occurs in dwarven mines because of the extended exposure," Kratos suggested. "The dwarves might have a resistance to it, so they didn't even consider it a problem. Did Myra write about a cure?"

Martel scanned the letter. "No. Looks like she's going to consult with their dwarven contacts to get more details. She wants us to stay put again."

"It's like she _wants_ us to get burned at the stake," Mithos grumbled. "We're starting to overstay our welcome, and we haven't even found Ratatosk yet."

"Well, we can do our own research while we're here," Yuan said. "The elves must have some kind of library, and they used to do trade with dwarves and humans. We might be able to find information on the illness, or the powers of the human monarchy."

"I doubt that they would let half-elves into their libraries."

Yuan smirked at the Yggdrasills. "Don't worry. Kratos and I are old hats at breaking into libraries."

* * *

The library in Heimdall was a long building built higher than the other surrounding ones. The shelves reached the ceiling, with ladders on rails to get around easier. There were cubbies with scrolls and maps. Tables and chairs were spread around with pots of ink. There were very few windows, so Mithos conjured some low-level witchlight to guide their way.

The security had been very lax, just a simple lock on the door that had taken a little bit of fiddling to pick open. Then again, there were no half-elves in Heimdall anymore; who else would be kept out?

Yuan went to the first bookshelf and took a book at random, opening it to shove his nose in it, inhaling deeply. "Mm. Smell that?"

Kratos moved first, mimicking his best friend. He smiled widely. "Wonderful."

Mithos snorted. "You two are such nerds."

"Hey, hey—you can't shame us for loving the smell of books." Yuan sniffed. "Uncultured kids."

Martel quickly smothered her laughter. "C'mon, focus."

_(Martel forgets, sometimes, how much Kratos and Yuan appreciate learning. They are scholars in the truest sense. Martel hopes that, one day, they don't have to sneak in to libraries to learn. That they can enjoy their old books and yellowed pages in the full light of day)_

They spread out, each with their own little ball of witchlight. They squinted and scanned the pages. It took Kratos and Yuan longer, not being as fluent in elven script as the Yggdrasills. Martel had taught them the basics, as had Alstan and Myra, but they were far from fast readers.

When the witchlight began to run out—as Mithos had only put in enough mana in them to last five hours—they quickly closed and replaced their books, slipping out the door and locking it behind them.

* * *

After the third night of doing this, Martel suggested that perhaps the elven Storyteller could help them. "Supposedly he's recorded all of elven history."

The Storyteller's hut was located on a rise overlooking the Toret Valley. The young elf who met them at the door—well, he _sounded_ young—said that the Storyteller refused to see them.

"Refusing to see us?" Yuan repeated in outrage. "This is an emergency!"

"There's no trying to talk him out of it," the elf said apologetically. He glanced between them and shut the door behind him. "What is it that you need?" he asked lowly.

"My fiancée is ill," Yuan said. "The Healer said she'd never heard of it, and the only information we have so far is that it could be a dwarven mining sickness. The elves and dwarves were united at some point in history. We were hoping that the Storyteller's records would show some sign of this sickness."

The elf's gaze flicked to the door. "Look, honestly, my master won't want to help you. He doesn't like half-elves, even more than usual around here." The elf pushed his round glasses up his nose. "But I can help you. Just—give me a list of symptoms and I'll help you research what I can."

Kratos blinked at him. He hadn't even used the word 'half-bred' like other elves did. "Why would you help us?"

The elf looked Kratos up and down before settling on his face. It was probably his first time meeting a human. "Because you guys are right. We've done nothing but hide and it's helped no one. This is how I can fight back."

The elf introduced himself as Kunir, apprentice to the Storyteller. Martel let her hood fall back to display the scales.

Kunir's eyebrows hit his hairline. "I've never seen anything like this." His long hair swept to one side as he tilted his head to study the scales. "But that definitely doesn't mean it's nonexistent. I must go soon, or my master will become suspicious. I can bring what I find to the inn tonight?" The question appeared to be directed at Kratos.

"Yes, please," Kratos said. They still had their own research to do in the library. "Thank you. We appreciate the risk you're taking for us."

* * *

Martel made a list of ingredients to see if the boys could find them around town or in the nearby area. She wanted to run some experiments with medicine. Yuan hesitated at leaving Martel alone, but Mithos dragged him out the door.

"She needs her space," Mithos hissed at him. "You're gonna smother her."

Yuan opened his mouth to protest, but Kratos' hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Mithos is right. Let her be alone for awhile while we try and find these things."

* * *

Privacy was a hard enough thing to come by, constantly on the road as they were. And though she knew he meant well, if Martel had to spend another moment with Yuan treating her like glass, she was going to scream.

She was so out of her depth. Martel had spent her bath this morning studying the scales along her knees and the ridges of her ankles. They weren't thin and semi-transparent like fish scales. They were tougher than that, rough like a lizard's.

There was no use crying about it, Martel reminded herself sternly when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Tears would solve nothing.

Still. Martel bit the inside of her cheek until she felt the tightness in her throat ease. There was a plan; research and experimentation. No point in despairing when there were things she could do about it.

What was that saying? When you're going through hell, keep going?

It wasn't like she had another option anyway.

* * *

When the boys returned, it was to Martel curled under blankets that were tucked up to her chin. Her hair was loose and tangled in the sheets.

They set the pouch of mushrooms and herbs on the floor by the door. Without talking about it, they all slipped their socks and boots off and slid into bed with her.

When Martel awoke nearly two hours later, it was to Yuan's arm slung around her hips, his nose in her shoulder. She was half on top of Kratos, who slept on his back and Mithos was curled in a ball near her stomach, the curve of his spine pressing against Kratos' hip. She smiled fondly at the three of them, this wonderful family of hers.

_(There is a part of her that believed that they would be afraid of her, that they would reject her. But here they are, cuddled closer than they have been in weeks due to the heat and they're so familiar against her)_

* * *

Kunir came that evening with an armful of scrolls. The four of them had awoken from their nap feeling steadier and less panicky.

Martel summoned balls of witchlight for them to read by. Kunir had brought medical journals to start. While they'd been out getting the herbs, Kratos had also purchased a new journal. They took sheets of paper from it and took notes on what they found, reading aloud some of the more ridiculous medical procedures to start.

Kunir's assistance was paramount, since the older scrolls were written in a dialect that neither of the Yggdrasill siblings had ever learned, Kratos and Yuan were a bit slower at reading them, but they were managing fine.

Kunir snickered good-naturedly at Kratos' pronunciation. "You're speaking through your nose," Kunir explained. "The sound is from your stomach, so it comes out stronger."

Kratos tried again. Kunir shook his head. "Use your diaphragm."

Another try, and this time Kunir nodded a little. "Better. Not quite, but better."

The most promising thing they found was from almost two thousand years ago, when Unicorn Horn was used to cure a plague that struck a military encampment. "It used to be used a cure-all," Martel read. Or at the very least, a catalyst for some powerful healing spells."

"Protozoan blood used to be used for healing too. It was used in many vaccines, according to my uncle."

"Protozoan blood?" Kratos repeated.

"Yes. As I understand it, since they are constantly evolving, their DNA actually has protection against a wide variety of things encoded into it. They were hunted pretty heavily some centuries ago. According to our records, they're extinct by now. No elf has seen one in four hundred years."

The four of them exchanged significant glances before Kratos asked, "You've never seen one?"

Kunir shook his head. "No. It was before my time, I'm afraid. My three hundred and twenty-second birthday was a few months ago."

They narrowed down the historical era of the use of the Unicorn Horn, and Kunir promised to return with more in depth research on the area tomorrow.

* * *

They did this for three nights, cross-referencing medical records with historic journals.

"I'm finding a major problem—where do we even _find_ a unicorn?" Mithos asked on the third night. "I'm betting there's no convenient map pointing straight to them."

Kunir shook his head. "Nothing. Not even in my master's records. It's like they've been removed for some reason."

"To protect them perhaps?" Yuan suggested. "Perhaps one of the former Storytellers didn't want people to keep going after the unicorns."

"Unicorns are essentially immortal. It's why they're symbolic of rebirth and revitalization. But we have a starting point," Kratos said. "Unicorns are well-documented. They certainly existed."

"Everyone knows they existed, Kratos. They're everywhere in fairy stories," Yuan told him. "Those aren't fact. And any facts that we have are pointing to them either being v _ery_ well hidden, or the loss of mana has been killing them off, hunters notwithstanding."

"Every story starts somewhere. Combined with what we have in the historical journals, if we find enough commonalities in the stories, they might give us a clue as to where to look."

"I guess I'll go search the children's books," Mithos said. Kunir was quite certain he'd grabbed everything possibly involving unicorns from his master's libraries.

"I'll check encyclopedias, and anything on natural history," said Martel. "See if those can point me in a direction."

It wasn't long before Mithos returned with a stack of thin children's books. "Anything I could find that mentioned unicorns."

The boys set to work, Kratos' notebook out so that they could write down any similarities. All the books agreed on general descriptions—one spiral horn, an equestrian animal with hooves, and white colored. Those checked out with descriptions in the journals.

"They always mention a 'pure maiden'," Yuan noted. "The person talking to the unicorns in the stories is always a pure maiden."

Kratos scribbled that down. "Um. That might present a problem if that means what I think it means."

"What do you—oh, gross." Mithos wrinkled his nose. "Didn't need that mental image of my sister, Kratos, thanks."

"Maybe it's metaphorical," Yuan suggested. "Like, pure of heart, or something."

"That could also present a problem. Being pure of heart is a subjective thing." And all of them knew that they'd all done things that, to outsiders, weren't exactly on the north side of the moral compass.

"We have to try."

"Do any mention a location?" Kunir asked, unfolding a map of the area.

Mithos looked through the stories again, flipping pages and pausing at illustrations. "Forests, mostly. Or woods. Ponds, sometimes."

"Is it always still water or can it be like a river too?" Yuan asked, scanning some of the journals. They were less than helpful much of the time, nondescript as far as their environment was concerned.

"I don't see any mention of rivers or streams. Ponds or lakes."

Yuan tilted his head to study the map. "We'll check the surrounding area since we can't really leave Heimdall until word from Myra comes back."

"There are dozens of forests in the area though," Mithos pointed out. "It would take forever to search all that."

"Yes, _but_ pair that together with still bodies of water and it's considerably less area to search. We can also assume that unicorns avoid people in general, since no one's ever seen one. So we remove the areas on the usual guard patrol routes too." Yuan brought his witchlight closer. "And they would be further from the borders, where the refugees are gathering."

"That's assuming that unicorns still exist at all," Kunir said. "It's possible that they could have been hunted to extinction."

"If they're immortal, how would they go extinct?" Mithos asked, then thought about it. "Wait. Their regeneration process likely takes a lot of mana. And with the amount of mana in the world decreasing, then their regeneration process is either slower or nonexistent."

"Does he always do that?" Kunir asked Kratos.

Kratos just grinned a little. "Terrify people with his intelligence? It's a family trait." He studied the map. "The Ymir is out. Too close to people."

"Right. And this—on the other side of the Toret Valley—there's a little pond, but that's still too close to Heimdall."

"Wait—" Mithos pointed to a larger forest. "What about here? A large area, plenty of space and it doesn't look like too many people go near it. It's at least a day's travel to Heimdall to even get to the outskirts of the forest."

"What about the water?"

"It's not mentioned in _all_ of the stories. Maybe it's not as required." Mithos scanned the forest. "There are little pockets of ponds here and there. Enough fresh water that a unicorn wouldn't have to be dependent on a single water source."

"Which makes them less predictable," Kratos said. "It makes sense. It's a day's travel to get there, but there's no guarantee how long it would take us to search that area."

"Noishe could help us search from overhead."

Kratos nodded. Even if the canopy was thick, Noishe had very sharp ears. He might not be able to track them very much, but any sign would be better than nothing.

Before Kunir could ask who Noishe was, Martel came with a book in one hand, her finger holding her place. "This is a medical text. I've noticed in a lot of their medicine, the elves use something called a…" Martel opened the page. "Mana leaf herb? It's supposed to be a powerful herb, used to help cure a plague a few centuries back, some lung and heart sicknesses. Maybe it can help with this too."

"We might have a lead on a unicorn."

They explained what they'd found. Martel nodded, eyes flicking across the map. "That makes sense."

"We thought so."

"And this forest that Mithos found, it's a large one. It's supposedly neutral ground for the elves. They won't build settlements there, won't even chop down the trees for wood."

"Why?"

"Well, according to the stories," Kunir answered slowly. "When the elves first came, they brought with them a seed. The seed that became the Giant Kharlan Tree."

"And you're saying that this Tree is in that forest?"

"Well. There is a section of the forest known as Kharlan Wood. It's…" Kunir scanned the map. "Here, a bit further north. Since it's the source of mana, none of us will go near it. Theoretically, our presence corrupts the mana, but I think that's a bit crazy."

"Wait wait wait," Mithos said. "Isn't Ratatosk the Spirit of the Tree?"

"Yes."

"Wouldn't he be there? How could Alain have gotten the pact otherwise?" Mithos looked at Kunir who only shrugged.

"Alain has been the keeper of Ratatosk's pact since my grandfather's time. I don't know how he did it. Ratatosk's priests are notoriously secretive."

"Maybe he has a Temple somewhere," Martel said. "On the edges of the forest. A place where the elves can worship, but not step into the Woods. Can you copy out the map, Yuan? Your artistic skills are better than ours, and we don't need to be wandering around blindly."

Yuan nodded as Kratos handed him the pen. It was hard to scale such a large map down into such a little notebook, but it would have to do. Besides, they didn't need as much precision for something like this. He passed the pen to Martel so she could translate the names of the areas. The calligraphic script on the map wasn't making it any easier for him to understand it.

"You were right, about the mana leaf herb," Kunir told Martel, cleaning his glasses on the edge of his shirt. "It's not terribly rare, but it is hard to get to. It thrives on less oxygen, you see. For generations, it's been a tradition to weave the history we take on cloth made from mana leaf."

"So you know where to find it?"

"The area where we get ours is in the mountains, at the source of the Latheon River."

"While we search for the unicorns, would it be possible to get mana leaves?"

"You want to experiment with them?" Kunir guessed.

"Yes. I don't know if a cure for this sickness has been found, but I'll try anything."

Kunir sighed. If there was one thing he'd learned about this group—and Martel Yggdrasill in particular—it was that trying to dissuade them when their minds were made up was nigh impossible. "I'll do what I can."


	74. Unicorns

_"This is how change happens. One gesture. One person. One moment at a time."_   
_-Libba Bray (Sweet Far Thing)  
_

* * *

Yuan was on watch when they appeared from the early morning mist. Ghostly pale figures with bright, intelligent eyes. He scrambled backwards, his hand landing on Mithos' arm. "Wake up!" he hissed urgently.

Mithos was on his knees in an instant, a half-formed spell circle beneath his feet. The rush of familiar mana woke Kratos and Martel.

"Whoa…" Mithos breathed, letting the spell fade away as he registered what he was looking at.

A herd of unicorns stood fifteen feet away. Their pale coats almost blended in with the moonlit mist. The one in front had a mane like seafoam, with flanks dappled a dove gray. Three weeks of searching for the unicorns, and the unicorns had found them.

"Um, hi," Martel said, still blinking away the edges of sleep.

"You trespass on our lands." The unicorn's voice was female, throaty and angry.

"We need to speak with you," Martel said, getting to her feet slowly and showing empty hands. "We mean no harm."

"So they all say."

"Who is 'they'?"

"Every other mortal who came looking for us, who hunted us."

"We don't want to hunt you," Mithos said. "All the legends speak of the healing properties of unicorn horn. My sister is very sick."

The mare snorted. "Everyone is sick and dying. The entire world is. My herd will sacrifice themselves for mortals no longer."

"Wait—sacrifice?" Kratos repeated. "Who said anything about sacrifices?"

"Our horns are our lives. We did our part to help. My herd is now all younglings. I have watched my herd be slaughtered for your spells, watched my family die because I could do nothing. Now I am strong enough to protect them."

Kratos didn't startle when Noishe landed behind him, but he did when the familiar beak nipped his ear.

The mare's head reared back, her nostrils twitching in what Yuan could only hope was confusion. "Why does a protozoan consort with _mortals_?"

"He's our friend," Yuan-and-Kratos said.

Noishe walked to the unicorns. He stood a bit taller than them, even counting the spiral horn. He pressed his forehead to the mare's nose.

Long moments passed before the mare pulled away from Noishe. "You dare accuse us of turning from our duty?"

One of the larger unicorns behind her stepped up. He was a handsome stallion, a purer white than the mare. "But Mother, he's right. We are the caretakers of the world, as protozoans are the protectors. We have been hiding—"

The mare wheeled her head to him, a sharp whinny silencing him. "We have been _surviving._ "

"What does that make us?" the stallion demanded. "We survive as cowards? As traitors to our duty?"

Her eyes flashed. "You forget your place."

His head tilted up. "I am next in line to lead this herd. I know my place and it belongs with them. The people trying to influence change. The Lady Luna spoke to us about them, remember? About how they are _good_ for the world."

"I won't allow Lady Luna's fondness for mortals bring about the death of my herd."

"We understand if you don't want to help us," Martel said, stepping forward. "You do what you have to to protect your family." She smiled a little. "We understand that better than most. We just needed to try."

The mare paused, her ears flicking forward as she studied Martel. "You're the sick one."

"Yes."

"Mother, I won't just let them walk away. They've shown us no ill will, and if Lady Luna vouched for them, then I will keep my faith in her." The stallion stepped closer to Martel, lowering his head carefully. "You seem like a good mortal. I hope this helps you. Truly. And I hope you succeed. I hope that, when I am reborn, the lunara blossoms are blooming across this forest again, and that the song of the linkite trees are soaring through the winds once more. I dream that the colts of my herd will be able to grow in a world where they do not have to fear being hunted, that they can grow up free."

Martel smiled at him. "That sounds like a good dream."

He nudged his snout in her hands. Martel's breath hitched as she felt the mana inside him, clean and warm, pulsing like a heartbeat. "A gift," he said. "Freely given."

The stallion's entire being glowed, a star bursting in the mist. When the light cleared and Martel blinked past the spots in her vision, the stallion was gone, and his spiral horn lay in her hands. She fell to her knees, suddenly weak at the thought of what had been done.

 _(She hadn't wanted this, for someone to sacrifice their_ life _for her. It isn't right, but there's no way to reverse it, and a part inside her shrivels in relief because this might be the answer she'd been looking for)_

Martel looked up at the mare, could feel her sorrow as cleanly as if it were hers. "I will honor this. I will live my life honoring what your son has done."

"It is the way of our kind. The magic does not work if the horn is taken. It must be a gift." The mare's eyes wouldn't leave the horn in Martel's hands. "He knew that. My son was always the idealistic sort. I don't agree with him; I don't think there's much hope for the world at this point. But I can hope all of you are right, and that the world does change for the better."

"We can _make_ it change for the better," Mithos said. "It won't change by itself. Things happen because people make them happen. Your son's sacrifice won't be in vain."

The mare dipped her head. "You had best be right."

_(When the unicorns leave, Martel still can't quite get off her knees. When Mithos comes to make sure she's alright, she yanks him into a hug, needing to make sure he's alright. He is her anchor as much as Yuan and Kratos are, and he hugs her back tightly without asking questions, his heartbeat pulsing in her ear)_


	75. An Obsession

_"Classic fairy tales do not deny the existence of heartache and sorrow, but they do deny universal defeat."_   
_-Greenhaven Press_

* * *

 

Mithos pressed his lips together. His sister had always been an intelligent, driven woman, but the way she was working now—it was scary. Kunir had brought Martel the mana leaves and she'd begun experimenting with them. Boiling, steaming, pounding them into powders, making salves and pastes. Trying various combinations with the power of the Unicorn Horn backing her.

"I don't like it," Mithos told Yuan. "She's going to work herself into an early grave."

"Has she ever been like this before?" Yuan asked him. "She'll barely even look at me if I talk to her."

Mithos shook his head. "The closest was for transfusing your blood into Kratos, but even then, she wasn't this bad. She's barely eating, Yuan. I'm afraid it'll make her sickness worse."

"I'll see what I can do, kid." Honestly, Yuan had been trying. It had been almost a month of this, with apparently minimal success. "Go grab some food for her. Finger food, something quick, y'know?" They both knew she was more likely to eat it if she didn't have to stop what she was doing.

"…okay."

Yuan waited until Mithos had left to step over to Martel had set up her workspace, along the far wall on the floor. She had medical journals propped open around her, her notebook for recording her experiments on her lap. Her hair was coming undone from its bun, locks hanging in her face and trailing down her back. Dark circles were smudged beneath her eyes, and her skin looked sallow and pale, making the scales stand out in sharper relief.

"Martel," Yuan said quietly, trying not to startle her. When no reaction came, he repeated it louder. He had to call her name two more times before she looked up.

"Yes?" she asked irritably.

"Sweetheart, you need to rest. This isn't healthy."

"What I need to do is figure this out, Yuan. I did not survive this long just to be outdone by a sickness.,' Martel told him, eyes blazing.

"There's nothing weak or wrong about giving your body the rest it needs. You're probably only making it _worse_."

Martel slammed her hands down on the ground. "We don't know what this is, Yuan! I can feel it under my skin. It's _spreading_ , and we have no measure of time for it, no idea of its severity."

"So find the cure or kill yourself trying, is that it?" Yuan demanded.

"I don't see another option! Everything can be cured. I just need to find it."

She was about to turn back to her research, but Yuan moved to stay in her line of sight. "Everything except _death_ , Martel. Have you really not noticed? You barely sleep or eat. You don't look at us. This— _obsession_ is killing you faster than that sickness ever will. You're a lot of things, Martel Yggdrasil, but I never thought that a suicidal coward was one of them."

She was on her feet in an instant, joints cracking, swaying as she fought to catch her balance on numb limbs. Finally, a reaction! "Where do you get off on accusing me of that?"

"Because you'd rather hide in your research than face the fact that this sickness is happening. You don't have to think about it if you're focused on a cure, right?"

"You have no idea—"

"What you're going through? You're right, I don't. But what I do know? You're scaring us, Martel. You're scaring _Mithos."_ There it was. A pause, a flicker across her face. It was a cruel thing to use her little brother against her, but Yuan was not going to let Martel self-destruct like this. "You haven't seen him around you much lately, have you? _He's afraid to talk to you_. Afraid you'll bite his head off, afraid of this—this _mania_ that you've got in your head."

"I'm scaring you?"

"All of us. We love you, Martel. To see you this terrified and this obsessed is scary. We want to help you, but we can't if you won't let us."

"I—" Martel coughed, exhaustion beginning to catch up with her as the rage burned away. Yuan caught her arms as she swayed on her feet.

"Come outside with me. Eat a bit, take a nap in the sunshine. It's a nice day out."

_(What has she done to deserve this kind of kindness? Her memories of—Luna, how long has it been? Weeks?—they're hazy. She remembers seeing the others vaguely, but nothing is clear. And Yuan is still here. She's probably stretched his patience beyond the breaking point, but he's still here, arm around her shoulder, leading her out of the room. And Mithos. Where is Mithos? She has to apologize. She has never meant to scare him. She's doing this to protect him, to protect all of them. And herself. Particularly herself. She doesn't want to die. Doesn't even know how this sickness will kill her._

_Will it be a slow death, dragged out until she is ancient and hollow, trapped inside her own failing body? Or will it be escalated? Start off small until she has no control over her lungs, her arms, her heart? Will it be sudden? Just, one day, she topples over dead?_

_She doesn't know. None of them know and she_ hates _it with every fiber of her being. She needs to be there for Mithos. She will not die in front of her boys like this. They are prepared for deaths in battle, from wounds. They are soldiers in that way. But to die like this? From a sickness that turns your own body into something else? No. Martel refuses to die like that._

_But if she does die, wouldn't she like to enjoy some of the time she has left with her family?)_

Mithos was waiting on the outside steps, looking so small for thirteen, a plate of something on his lap. He looked up and she could see the hope lighting up his face. "Martel?" he asked warily.

She smiled, tired but so happy to see him. Yuan helped her sit and she drew Mithos into a hug. She needed a bath; she surely didn't smell good, and she couldn't remember the last time she bathed, but that would be for later. "I'm so sorry," she said, loud enough for them to hear. She would have to do this again when Kratos came back from wherever he was. Likely training with Natael's soldiers; they'd taken a liking to him after he'd proved himself.

"I just, I didn't mean for it to get this bad," Martel said.

"We know. We're glad you're okay." Mithos drew out of the embrace a bit, pushing the plate towards her. "Eat. It's pork buns. I know you like those."

She ate mechanically. Her jaw felt tight, likely from clenching her teeth in frustration, and it made chewing a chore. Perhaps she would request some soup for the next meal. The two of them were very carefully not watching her eat.

"…Any luck?" Mithos asked, voice small.

 _He's afraid to talk to you…_ "Not much. A powdered form of the mana leaf seems to be the most effective so far, but that's still not a lot of progress."

Mithos patted her knee. "You'll figure it out." It wasn't the rote, supportive type of sentence that Martel had been expecting to hear, and it made more shame rush through Martel's body for ever putting her little brother through this. He had such absolute faith in her.

Yuan scooched closer so that they touched from hip to knee. Perhaps he was something of a mind-reader, able to sense that her thoughts were going to spiral back to _Oh Luna, what happens to Mithos when I'm gone?_

"We'll help you," Yuan promised. "Any way we can."


	76. Chapter 76

_"Courage does not always roar. Sometimes, courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying 'I will try again tomorrow'."_   
_-Mary Ann Radmacher_

* * *

Martel stared at the person sitting beneath the Kharlan Tree. Autumn leaf hair, nut brown skin and very green eyes. She'd last seen the man their first night in Heimdall, in a field of lunarablossoms.

And here he was, lounging among the roots of the Great Kharlan Tree like a king.

" _You're_ Ratatosk?"

The man grinned with too-sharp teeth. "Hello, Martel."

The boys stared between them, stunned. "You know him?"

"We've met."

"I did hear rumors that you four would be coming for me."

"What rumors?" Martel scoffed. "I _told_ you."

"So you did. How can I be of service?"

"I'm willing to bet that you don't like Alain," Mithos said. "Feel like changing masters?"

A wall of mana slammed into them, nearly putting them on their knees, and Ratatosk's eyes became the red of drying blood. "I have no _masters_ , boy. I _am_ mana; I came into being before the acorns that became the trees of the Ymir were on the branches of their mothers' trees. And I will be here long after the dust from your tombstone dissolves into the sea."

"I misspoke. My apologies." Mithos bowed his head. "It does, however, sound like you're not willing to make another pact."

Ratatosk sat back, his eyes cooling back to their green. "I suppose it would depend upon the pact."

"You're not stupid; you know the political situation. The elves have done nothing but hide behind their borders, content to pretend that the war has nothing to do with them, despite the fact that they have the power and resources to, if not change the tide of the war, to heavily influence one side or the other."

"And yet they sit by idly, sipping their berry wines and watching the world rip itself apart. I'm well aware."

"We're trying to put a stop to it. Peacefully."

"You believe there's a peaceful solution?"

"I do. No one wants a war."

Ratatosk hummed. "Well, that's a broad statement, but yes, the general public would prefer that the war ends. It isn't a matter of what people _want_ but rather a matter of what they're willing to sacrifice. The morals and worldview they've known all their lives? And how long will this coveted peace of yours last? A decade? Two?"

"We need to try. Peace is possible."

"Even if war breaks out again," Yuan added slowly. "It will give the world time to rest and heal. Children will grow without the fear of bombs dropping."

"And you could use that chance, couldn't you?" Martel said, meeting Ratatosk's eyes unflinchingly. "To heal? Your Tree is dying from so much mana being used, particularly by the humans' magitechnology. So making a pact with us is really to your advantage."

Ratatosk snorted. "How convincing."

"Or would you rather continue to be associated with Alain?"

Ratatosk shrugged, a motion like a bird ruffling its feathers. "Why not? I'll annul the pact. On one condition."

"Prove our strength in combat?" Mithos sighed.

"No, no." Ratatosk waved his hand airily. "You've proven yourselves in that respect a dozen times over. My condition is that she," He pointed at Martel. "Will hold my pact."

"Me?" Martel repeated. "Why?"

"Because your little brother has been consolidating quite a lot of power and—personally—I don't like putting all my eggs in one basket."

"Are you afraid I'll misuse the power?" Mithos asked bluntly.

"'Concerned' is a better word. But yes. Power corrupts."

"Seems like a fair condition to me," Kratos said.

"It is," Mithos agreed. "So yes. I'll accept the terms. Martel holds the pact."

"Gee, thanks for agreeing _for_ me, both of you," she said dryly, but there was an edge in her tone. Mithos and Kratos winced a bit, but she ignored them, looking at Ratatosk. "Yes, I'll agree to hold the pact."

Ratatosk held out a fist, opening it. "As a symbol of the pact."

Martel walked towards him. The object in his palm was brown and lumpy, vaguely like a walnut. "Thank you. What is it?"

"A seed from my Tree. As a symbol for this peaceful future of yours."

"You're such a sap," Martel teased. "For someone who tries to be so tough."

He smirked. "Well, I _am_ a tree. Sap is part of the package."

The four of them groaned, making Ratatosk's warm laughter ring out.

* * *

Mithos never had to summon Ratatosk. The Spirit of the Tree tended to show up on his own. He was argumentative, clever and quite stubborn. In other words, he fit right in.

Martel told him of her experiments with the dwarven illness. She explained about the unicorn horn and how the elves had suggested a mana leaf herb. She'd tried it powdered, crushed, as a tea, in a salve. It had made a little progress, she'd explained, slowing the scales' progression and even reversing it a little.

"It's no cure, however."

Ratatosk studied her notes. Her experiments were, of course, well researched, with precise measurements and effects. There were places where her handwriting turned frantic and there were suspicious smudges in some places that Ratatosk was not going to attribute to tears. _(He has never been kind, exactly. Not like Luna, and Gnome, and even Undine if you catch her in the right mood. If people cry, it is their business. He wouldn't do well with tears anyway)_

"They told you it was a _dwarven_ sickness?" Ratatosk repeated.

"Yes. From their mines."

"Dwarves and other species are fundamentally different in their biology. Humans are the closest, but dwarves have evolved for living underground. If it dwarves get sick, it's often an above-ground influence, which humans, half-elves and elves are naturally more resistant to. There's not many things that affect both."

Ratatosk eyed Martel critically. "You said that the mana leaf works best in powdered form?"

Martel nodded, trying to find the connection in Ratatosk's logic. "Yes. And not as a fine powder either. Mixed with some lemon gel to make a kind of rough cream, it has the best effect so far if backed with a Revitalize spell."

"From what I can see, the sickness is actually slowing down your mana flow."

"But I can cast spells just fine. Wouldn't that be affected?" And wouldn't she or Mithos have noticed, as sensitive to mana as they were? But then, Ratatosk was the Spirit of Mana. Of all beings, he would be the one to know.

"Quite the opposite. Slowing down your mana flow lets it pool, kind of like water. It gives your body an easy reservoir to draw from. Most mages and Healers have slower mana flows for that reason, letting them cast spells easier, and they tend to be stronger." Ratatosk leaned forward, tapping the Exsphere on Martel's hand. "What is this?"

"It's an Exsphere. The half-elven army got them by trading with the dwarves. They're to help bring soldiers to the best of their natural ability."

Ratatosk hummed. "The dwarves are an inventive bunch, but even they couldn't invent this."

"You think it's the Exsphere's fault?"

"Yes. I've seen Exspheres before, but I've never seen one do this. Usually, they bolster the mana flow so that that the body's metabolism becomes, eventually, unnecessary. Exspheres are a parasitic stone; there's a reason mortals don't run on pure mana—"

"Like spirits do."

"Like spirits do," Ratatosk agreed. "Mana is influenced by emotion. When you're angry, your spells are harder to control due to your increased heartrate, bloodflow, etc. All extreme emotions do that. Your brain has to work overtime to channel mana with all that going on, which increases the electrical signals it gives out.

"Exspheres feed on those electrical signals, and by slowing the metabolism, the body learns to work with purely mana rather than calories for energy, for example. It lessens the need for food as often, theoretically at all if you wore the Exsphere long enough. But the brain, caught in that state of heightened activity, is constantly that active, which feeds the Exsphere. It heightens the reflexes, reaction times—"

"All good for soldiers."

"Precisely. And as long as the Exsphere stay attached, the body's fine. But the longer the Exsphere remains attached, the more the body depends on it."

"So, when it gets removed, what happens?"

"The mana in your body would go out of control. At best, your body tries to restart itself. Heart attacks, gasping breath. It's possible it can. But it'll be a long, painful process to get it to work on its own entirely again."

"And at worst?" Martel felt her heart sink.

"The mana goes so out of control, and the body can't keep up, that the mana warps the body. Becoming a monster."

"That's how monsters are made?"

"Many of them, yes. Not by Exspheres, but if enough stress happens to the body, and the mana tries to catch up, it'll overwork itself." Ratatosk smiled crookedly, though it wasn't a happy one. "Why do you think I'm both Lord of Monsters and the Spirit of Mana? They're tied together."

"Is that what's happening to me? Am I becoming a monster?"

"No. Your body is actually doing the opposite. It's reacting like it's battle-ready, but the mana is pooling rather than flowing faster, so pieces of mana are crystallizing. _That's_ what those scales are."

Martel frowned, looking down at her hands. The scales were present over the ridges of her knuckles, the prominent bones of her wrists. "So what you're saying is that I'm becoming a giant crystal?"

"Essentially."

"The dwarves don't have any solution for this? They can't run the risk with their people like that."

"I'm a pretty sure that they have a way so that the Exsphere doesn't touch skin. That's how they feed off their host."

"If I'm a rare case, that may be why the dwarves don't really have a solution yet. And I imagine that they're naturally more resistant to the Exspheres. I'll write to Myra so that she can discuss with her dwarven contacts. Maybe even talk to the Shadow monks, see if they have any knowledge of it." Martel pulled out her notebook, already beginning to pen the letter to Myra. She paused, tip of her pen hovering over the page. "If the dwarves have that kind of technology to not let the Exsphere feed, why does no one in the half-elven army have them?"

Ratatosk shrugged, leaning back until he was lying flat on the ground. "Maybe the army got them from some shady characters. Or they got a cheaper deal without the tech. I'm assuming the half-elves aren't exactly swimming in funds."

Martel's heart sank like a stone. The latter was much more likely. "No…they're not."

 

* * *

 

She brought up the theory to Kratos, about the army cutting corners to provide Exspheres. Kratos was quiet for a few minutes, thinking it over as he scrubbed a stubborn spot in their pot. Finally, he said, "I think it's plausible. Desperate times and all that"

"It's _sick_ , Kratos."

"I know. There might be a way to counteract or reverse it. Until we get word from Myra, we have no way of knowing."

"You're pretty calm about all this."

"It's feeding off me, yeah, but so far, there's been no adverse effects and it's probably the only reason I've survived as long as I have," Kratos said dipping the pot in the stream to rinse it out. "I'm honestly more concerned about you."

"I feel better knowing exactly what's wrong with me. Gives me a direction, y'know?"

Kratos made a noncommittal sound in his throat. "I suppose I do."

* * *

Myra's letter returned a week later. _You're right,_ it read. _We as an army chose to neglect the Key Crest on the Expsheres in order to save money. Key Crests, as they've been explained to me, are the technology you're talking about. They serve as a resting place for the Exsphere so that the effect goes through, but the parasite can't feed. It's a dwarven art, so they're the only ones who know the proper runes and inscriptions. I know that it is made from a certain kind of ore, and the dwarves tell me that a Key Crest can be applied after the Exsphere has been attached to the skin to get the effect._

_I'm sorry for what the army did. We needed soldiers. As a Healer, I disagreed with the decision not to tell you, but as a strategist, I understood the need to do it. I do not tell you this to excuse my actions, but to provide an explanation._

"Would one of these 'Key Crests' even work?" Yuan asked, handing Martel back the letter. "Ratatosk said your case was basically unheard of. The Key Crest might not be effective."

"It's a start. We can adapt from there if needs be," Mithos told him. "We can write to the Shadow monks. I'm sure they would help us."

* * *

It took two weeks to receive a reply from the Shadow monks, with a package as well. They had made it back to Heimdall four days ago, and had continued scouring the library for information on anything that sounded remotely like Exspheres, but there wasn't much. Even Kunir could find very little.

Inside the package were instructions and four little bowl shaped pieces of metal about an inch long and half an inch deep.

"Simone says that we can attach it to jewelry if needed," Mithos read. "But usually, the Exsphere is placed in the bowl and then the Key Crest is surgically embedded into the skin."

"Surgically would be if the skin weren't open already, I imagine," Martel eyed the Exsphere on her hand. "Think they're safe to remove?"

"We've had them removed before," Mithos reminded her. "In the ranches. Nothing happened."

But it had been well over two years since they'd been captured in the ranches. And if the Exspheres responded to stress levels, they would theoretically be more attached than they had before, with their travels and fighting Summon Spirits.

"He has a point. I'll go first." Yuan had to work to remove the Exsphere from his skin, using a small knife to cut around the edges and pry it loose. He blinked, the world sliding sideways as Martel carefully slid the Key Crest into place. She healed the skin so it attached smoothly before taking the bloody Exsphere from Yuan's hand, wiping it on a rag and inserting it into the Key Crest.

"Do you feel any different?" Kratos asked, keeping a bracing hand on Yuan's shoulder as he watched him sway.

"Uh. A little bit like throwing up, actually. That's—that's not fun."

"Sit," Martel ordered. "Head between your knees. Breathe."

Yuan obeyed, feeling the nausea subside slowly, though if he tried to sit up, it came back. Martel checked his pulse. "Fast, for you, but it's slowing down."

They waited until Yuan could stand without the world spinning before continuing on to Kratos. Kratos actually did throw up, followed by violent hacking coughs that Martel feared would break a rib. They moved Kratos to a cot to lie down, breathing too fast, and with a basin nearby just in case.

When they removed Mithos' Exsphere, he nearly passed out, vision going white, knees buckling. Yuan caught him, but he moved too fast and he was apparently not entirely recovered because he lost his balance, blood rushing. They ended up collapsed in a heap on the floor, and after a few minutes when they could both say—with not a lot of confidence—that they were okay, Kratos chuckled weakly at them.

"We should've just put them on jewelry," Kratos said, but he was still smiling, even though he was still looking pretty pale.

They were all braced for some reaction from Martel when she put on her Key Crest. Nothing. "I don't even feel dizzy," Martel told them, looking down at the Exsphere. The _parasite_ , she amended venomously.

Kratos' forehead creased in concern. It made Martel's heart hurt; he was only twenty-six. He shouldn't have the beginnings of lines on his face like that. They were all too _young_ for this. "Ratatosk said you were reacting differently to the Exsphere itself. Maybe the Key Crest needs to be made differently for it to work for you."

"We can probably reverse-engineer it," Yuan said. "We have the base model for Key Crests now. If we ask Simone for the schematics on these, we might be able to adjust the runes so it works for you."

Martel threw her arms around Yuan, nearly knocking him off balance. _(She is overwhelmed, sometimes, by htow lucky she is to have him—and the other boys—in her life)_ "I love you."

He laughed a little, kissing her forehead. "I love you too. Now c'mon. We have four—well—" Yuan cast a doubtful eye over Kratos. "Three and a half—brilliant minds to put to work."

"Hey!" Kratos protested, but he couldn't fight the smile. Martel squeezed Yuan a little tighter, and felt him do the same.

She was not alone. She would never have to fight this—or anything, alone. And was there a better feeling than that?

* * *

Simone was more than happy to send the schematics over to her friends and the holder of her patron Spirit's pact. Mithos and Yuan—the most adept at puzzling out dwarven runes, pored over the schematics, breaking it down logically.

Yuan tilted his head at the paper. "The metal is something called inhibitor ore? Am I reading that right?"

Mithos found his spot and translated it mentally. "Looks like."

"It must be non-conductive, since the Exsphere apparently feeds off electrical signals." Yuan jotted that down, making a list of things they needed or note of important points.

"Doesn't that look like a variation of a Barrier spell?" Mithos asked, pointing out the section.

"Perhaps that helps slow the mana flow," Kratos suggested. "Or it's another layer of protection from the Exsphere's influence."

It was heavy, headache-inducing work. They all tried their hands at it when they could, but Yuan and Mithos were the ones at it the most. They worked through the nights, stopping when Kratos would interrupt them to tell them to bathe before they stunk up the place, or when Martel sat with plates of food across the room that smelled distractingly good. But their progress was frustratingly slow, even as Martel tried to tell them that it was okay, she didn't need it right away.

Mithos narrowed his eyes at her. "Don't you start with the self-sacrifice. We're going to figure this out, Martel. Don't worry."

_(There are moments, like this one, where Martel can see the adult that Mithos will become. Can see it in the wisdom of his eyes, the sharpening lines of his face, in how he carries himself. It's an odd thing to witness, someone whom you'd helped learn to walk growing into themselves like that, but the man that Martel sees, it is a man she can be proud of)_

* * *

It had been a week when both Yuan and Mithos paused, looking at their work with puzzled expressions. "I don't even recognize any of this," Yuan said.

"I know a section here or there, but overall, nothing."

"Let me see." They offered Martel the translation of their notes. "These look like medical notes. For the metabolism. That must be why the mana leaf herb works at all. It's usually used to help restore the internal balance of the body."

"You said you couldn't get results with it though. Nothing definite."

"I couldn't. But if the Exsphere is constantly feeding, then the healing would also have to be constant. And no one can do that. There were small results because the healing worked a little bit, but not enough to offset everything else. With the proper runes on the Key Crest, the normal healing magic might actually work because it would properly get absorbed into the body."

Mithos sucked his teeth. "Lemme see your notes?"

After Martel passed them, Mithos' mind whirring at a thousand miles an hour as he cross-referenced them, Yuan tugged Martel close, dropping a kiss on her neck as they watched him. "Y'know. Your brother's gonna save the world someday."

"It took you this long to figure that out?" Martel drew absent shapes beneath the hem of Yuan's shirt, along the ridges of his hipbones. She tilted her head over to look at him, raising a hand to gently touch the beginnings of dark circles beneath his eyes, at the stress tightening the corners of his mouth. "You need a break. You both do."

Yuan shook his head. "We're fine. If tiredness is the worst that comes to us, it's a blessing. You're more important."

_(Martel Yggdrasill is not a woman who is accustomed to being put first. It's neither a good nor a bad thing; she is simply someone who, from the moment she had scooped Mithos up as she ran for Heimdall's borders, has put everyone else—namely Mithos—first. It's oddly comforting to have Yuan put her before other things)_

* * *

Kunir visited them two nights later, pale hair drawn back from his face and not quite meeting their eyes. "You guys should leave soon."

"What?" Kratos asked. "Where is this coming from?"

"I hear it from the other villagers. They didn't like the fact that you guys were here in the first place, but there's a lot of talk about you overstaying your welcome. I just don't want you guys to get hurt if they decide to—try and lynch you all or something."

Martel flinched at the thought—there would always be nightmares of the mobs the day that they ran her and Mithos out of Heimdall, burning everything and anything that had to do with half-elves in the village. "We appreciate the warning, Kunir."

Mithos didn't even attempt to argue; his memories of their exile weren't what one could call 'vivid', but Martel's reaction, her tension at being in this village, was more than enough for him. "Guess we're taking our research on the road."

"I'm so sorry."

Looking at Kunir, at how _young_ he seemed, though he had several hundred years on her, Martel softened a little. There was hope yet for change. After all, had someone asked Martel years ago if a full blooded elf would help a ragtag group of unwanted people like theirs, well. She might have laughed in their face. "It's not your fault, Kunir. They'll change their minds one day, and we'll all have a victory toast to say _I told you so_."

Kunir chuckled a little, a weary sound. "I hope you're right. I'm going to try and change things from within the village. I'm the future Storyteller, after all. I'm going to weave the stories about you into the mana leaf cloth, about the war heroes who defeated Origin, who befriended Ratatosk. About the things you've seen and done. I won't let Heimdall erase you, like they did to half-elves before."

Martel hugged Kunir tight. Yuan grinned at Kunir's stunned face. "Yeah, she's impulsive like that."

Martel stepped back, giving Kunir his personal space back. Most elves weren't good with physical affection. Kratos laughed when Martel told him that, saying that it must be proof that she's adopted because she and Mithos were always hugging and wrestling and gently bumping everyone. "I wish you the best, Kunir. You've been a good friend in a place where we didn't think to find any."

Kunir was horrified to see her eyes oddly moist. "Please don't cry," he blurted.

She chuckled, a wet, light sound. "Sorry. It's just—it's more than I could have ever hoped for. Being remembered. Who would've thought?"


	77. On Beginnings

_One could say, in fact, that no story really has a beginning, and that no story really has an end, as all the world's stories are as jumbled as the items in the arboretum, with their details and secrets all heaped together so that the whole story, from beginning to end, depends on how you look at it._

_-Lemony Snicket (The End)_

* * *

"Where do we find Maxwell?" Mithos asked Origin one night, a mug of tea warming his hands. "Does he actually exist?"

Origin sat cross-legged beside him, looking every bit the strong-backed warrior from the stories. "Why do you doubt his existence?"

"I've never heard of any rituals for him, or prayers. He's always kind of—in the stories, he's been a mix of either an incredibly powerful mage, or an actual Summon Spirit. Most stories tend to lean towards the former."

"Why can they both not be true? Why are they exclusive to each one another in your mind?" Origin had a deep, calming voice that rumbled with the warmth of a summer thunderstorm on the horizon.

Mithos narrowed his eyes at Origin suspiciously. "Where _do_ Summon Spirits come from?"

A small, proud smile curled Origin's lips. Not many mortals thought to ask that question without looking for a philosophical or religious answer. Purely by his tone, however, Origin could tell that Mithos wanted a proper answer.

"An excellent question. One that I don't have a proper answer for."

A frown furrowed between Mithos' eyebrows, an expression reminiscent of Yuan. "How do you not know?"

"Do you remember your own birth?" Origin countered.

"Well, no."

"I do not remember mine. But I have a theory."

Mithos shifted in the grass, making himself more comfortable, his sharp gaze intent on Origin. The boy was voracious in his appetite for knowledge. "Go on."

"All of the Spirits I have known came from someone else. A mortal of some kind. And all were found in rather…dire situations."

"So you're saying that when people die, they become spirits?"

"Not all. Ones with enough will left to live. It is how many creatures are created such as ghosts. Shadow lays claim to most of them. He has always been something of a mother hen in adopting people."

"But Shadow had to come from somewhere."

"It is my theory that those close to death with particularly strong wills in a location rich in mana become Summon Spirits. We are simply concentrations of mana, after all. If the natural mana converged on a dying soul and merged with it—I believe that is how we are born."

Mithos hummed in thought, tapping his fingers against his mug. Behind them, the fire crackled and spit. Kratos shuffled in his sleep, but didn't wake.

"And the world has been low on mana for—what, a few centuries? There hasn't been a concentration of mana strong enough to produce a Summon Spirit since then."

"Just so."

Mithos fell silent for a long while. He was good company, Origin thought. Most summoners never bothered to talk much with the Spirits, but Mithos—and the others—liked to make conversation with them, asking opinions and debating on a frankly astounding variety of topics. Ratatosk, Origin knew, favored Martel since she'd been so thoroughly unimpressed with his displays of power, and Kratos because of the duality of his nature, a duality that Ratatosk shared.

Celsius was oddly fond of Yuan, for all that she didn't like other beings in general. Perhaps it was because Yuan could match her word for word in venomous arguments; Celsius always did like the rebellious types.

"Origin?" Mithos murmured, looking up at him.

_(Origin sees all times at once. He sees the boy before him as a thought in his mother's mind, as a man grown, as a memory told to children at their bedsides. Whatever Mithos Yggdrasill will become—and the future is an uncertain thing, with millions of branches of possibilities—he will do great things)_

"Yes?"

"You said that all of the Spirits were near death when they were created."

Origin waited for a question.

"Do you remember dying?"

The truth was that Origin did not _remember_ the things before this life. He _knew_ them, the same way he knew the stars in the sky and the movement of the earth. But he knew them as facts, not memories.

The answer that Origin settled on was, "Sometimes."

"…Do you wish you didn't? Remember?"

A child of Mithos' age should not have such shadows behind his eyes. Indeed, many adults should not have had them either. Mithos had seen many horrors; perhaps he wished to forget them?

"No, I do not. These memories made me what and who I am."

_(One day, several millennia later, Mithos Yggdrasill would come to sit at the foot of the Sword which Origin would forge for him in his grief. Mithos sits in silence for a long time, hours which pass like minutes to an immortal._

_Finally, Origin hears him ask, "Do you regret becoming a Summon Spirit? You could have simply died and been at peace rather than live through so many millennia."_

_Origin does not answer. It has been several thousand years since he has responded or spoken to Mithos, since Mithos reneged on the vows of his pacts and locked them away in a spun web of power and legend._

_It is many hours before Mithos stands and disappears in a rush of power. In another time, Origin thinks Mithos Yggdrasill could have become some kind of Spirit too)_

The next hour, Mithos slipped down the rise, prodding Yuan awake for his turn at watch. Yawning and pouring himself a mug of tea, Yuan asked Origin, "Are you sticking around, or do Spirits need beauty sleep too?"

Origin snorted. "I will leave you to your watch."

* * *

The next morning, Mithos remembered his original question of the night before.

"Maxwell does exist," Origin told him. "He is most often found in the ruins of the old city." Origin pointed to a spot on the map that Mithos had rolled out.

Martel peered over her brother's shoulder. "That's in the human capital!"

Kratos and Yuan set the cooking pot and mugs down to take a look. Yuan swore. "Great. 'Cause that's all we need is another complication in that Spirit-forsaken place."

"Technically, be definition, it's not Spirit-forsaken if Maxwell's there."

Yuan shoved Mithos good-naturedly. "Oh, shut up, smartass."


End file.
